


Raining

by HarrietHopkirk



Series: Pathetic Fallacy [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Collection of one-shots, Community: HPFT, F/M, Fluff, Non-Linear Narrative, Romance, Saccharine AF
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-08
Updated: 2018-05-16
Packaged: 2019-04-20 07:41:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 32,779
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14256162
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HarrietHopkirk/pseuds/HarrietHopkirk
Summary: James Potter and Amelie Harris had never had the most conventional of relationships. It may sound perfect - the best friends who finally discover they have feelings for each other - but there were plenty of obstacles along the way, including serial-divorcee mothers, jealous Quidditch players, a cat called Gwenog and a lot of rain.





	1. 'Train Ride', Seventh Year

**Author's Note:**

> This is a collection of one-shots about James and Amelie. Events and chapters occur in a non-linear order.

Amelie Harris ran quickly down the platform, her trunk charmed to follow behind her. She wore a skirt and a worn Weird Sisters t-shirt, her school robes packed into the bag swinging at her side. Her long, dark hair flew out behind her as she weaved between parents waving goodbye to their departing children.

“Fuck, fuckity, fuck,” she said to herself as the train began to pull out the station, white steam billowing out the top and blinding her momentarily. When it cleared, she watched it out of sight and sat defeated on her school trunk.

“Mummy, what does fuck mean?” A little girl asked harmlessly, her wide eyes looking up at the woman standing next to her. The woman looked angrily at Amelie, who chuckled softly, shaking her head.

“You should tell her, she’ll be a young lady soon,” she told the woman. Amelie smiled sweetly at the young girl, who smiled innocently back.

The lady bustled and pushed her child away from Amelie, muttering angrily about teenagers.

Amelie pulled her wand out of her pocket and cast a Patronus, a silver tiger protruding out of the tip, which sprinted away. She knew that it would reach Hogwarts soon and a professor would come and apparate her to the castle. She’d done it enough times. It wasn’t a surprise when she didn’t get Head Girl. Apparently it was for her mother though, who decided that Amelie was the smart one in the family, mainly because she was the only one in the family (unless you counted all the ex-stepbrothers and sisters).

“Did you miss it too?”

Amelie turned awkwardly on her trunk and saw James Potter walking towards her, dragging his trunk along behind him. His owl hooted loudly on his shoulder. He was wearing Muggle clothes, jeans and a t-shirt, and his hair was wet from the rain outside the station.

“Yeah…but where is the rest of your family?”

“Came with the Weasley’s. Had to stop into Wheezes to get some emergency supplies…” He gestured at a brown bag clutched tightly in his right hand, which was whirring noisily.

“Nice one, Jimmy,” she smiled, standing up and hugging him.

“How many times to do I have to tell you to not call me that?” James said, amused, pushing her back with his hands on her shoulders.

“At least one more time.” Amelie ruffled his hair playfully before sitting on a bench near a large station clock.

“I’ve missed you. It’s been a long summer,” James said, sitting beside her.

“Cousins?”

“And parents.”

“It must be such a strain to be the son of the Boy Who Lived,”

“You know my dad rode a flying car to school once when he missed the train,” James reminisced, folding his arms across his chest.

“Yes, you’ve told me that story at least two hundred times,” Amelie said sarcastically, looking at James.

“My dad was a complete git this week…” he began.

He had changed over the summer; he had grown leaner and taller, his shoulders were broader and his chest toned. His dark hair had grown as well and now hung in front of his hazel eyes. James also had more freckles on his nose, which Amelie was finding quite distracting as he talked.

What?

Amelie had never found James’ face distracting. And yet he was talking to her and she wasn’t listening. Instead she was mesmerised by the way his lips formed the words. Amelie shook her head slightly, trying to focus on what James was saying.

“…And then Dad said that he knew better and that I couldn’t go out, so I went over to Teddy’s and lived there for a weekend. It was good apart from the fact Victoire was always there and you know how much I love her.”

“You are not her greatest fan,” Amelie said vaguely, looking down so not to be mesmerised by James' eyes.

“How was your summer, Amelie?” James asked, stretching his arm out across the back of the bench.

“Good.”

“That’s cool,” he said quietly, playing softly with a strand of her hair. She felt goose bumps appear on the back of her neck.

Since when did I get goose bumps? Since when did I get goose bumps when James touched me?

“Potter, Harris, come here please.”

“Professor, good morning. Did you have a lovely holiday?” James smiled, hastily standing up to greet Professor Sinastra. He could charm anyone when he wanted to. Including me, apparently, Amelie thought. He was the son of Harry Potter and being famous obviously counts for something. The professor blushed slightly and smiled.

“Yes, thank you, Mr. Potter. Come this way please.”

She led the two students along platform, back towards the barrier. Before they reached it, however, they took a sharp right and the teacher ushered them into a small room. It was decorated plainly and there was a single window, which showed the Muggle station outside.

“You are going to have to take a port key to Hogwarts.” The two students nodded as the professor continued to talk.

“This one,” she gestured at an old drinks can, “leaves in ten minutes. I will take your luggage now and it will be waiting in your dormitory when you reach Hogwarts.”

“Cheers, Professor,” James said, happily. Amelie rolled her eyes at him and James shrugged innocently. Professor Sinastra giggled before disapparating to Hogwarts.

“I can’t believe you can make them giggle. They are middle-aged women for crying out loud!” She said, swatting him playfully in the back of the head.

James smiled broadly at her and Amelie’s stomach gave a small leap. My stomach has never leapt because of James Potter. Sure it’s lurched, but that was the time he ate Cockroach Cluster for a bet - and that wasn’t pretty. Amelie turned and looked at him again. He was carving his name into the underside of the bench with his wand, his hair flopping into his eyes. She had the sudden desire to reach out and touch it, to move it out of his face.

What the hell is going on?

James and Amelie had been friends since first year, meeting on this very platform all those years ago. Her cat had wandered off into the crowd of people and he helped her find it. He was just a scrawny 11-year old boy who was tired of his family being gawked at. Since then, their love for each other had been purely platonic.

Is still purely platonic, Amelie reminded herself forcefully, while she absentmindedly watched James’ bicep flex with every movement. Purely platonic.

“Hey that’s cool!” James shouted, leaping up from the bench and examining the drinks can, which was turning blue, “look at it go!”

“Usually, Jimmy, that means it is time to go,” she said patronisingly, looking at her watch, “grab hold of it, it’ll leave in about thirty seconds.” James scowled at the use of his nickname, before placing his index finger on the drinks can. Amelie did the same, tucking her long hair behind her ear.

“Ready?” She managed to say before there was a familiar pull at her navel, the small room spun around her and she left her feet leave the floor.

James probably wasn’t ready.

 

The two teenagers fell clumsily in Hogsmeade station, James landing awkwardly on top of Amelie. He smirked, raising an eyebrow.

“Please, Amelie, we are barely into the start of the school year and we are already on top of each other?” Amelie blushed furiously, her face heating up. She laughed weakly before James rolled off her onto the floor. Without all the weight of his body on Amelie’s, it felt very empty.

It was still raining when James and Amelie quickly ran into the waiting room, their feet splashing in the puddles on the platform. A stern short man wearing a uniform was sitting behind a desk in a tiny ticket booth. A pile of papers was tottering dangerously high above his bald, shiny head. He scowled when they entered.

“Hogwarts kids?” Amelie and James nodded, “Longbottom said to expect you. You are going to have to wait until the coaches arrive and that won’t be for another couple of hours.”

“So what are we meant to do till then?” James asked.

“Sit,” the man said grumpily, gesturing to two rickety chairs near a dwindling fire.

“Great,” James muttered angrily under his breath before pushing Amelie gently towards the seats. She sat down, pulled her book out of her bag and began to read.

“You’re not going to study, are you? Because if you are, I’m out of here and you can sit here with angry bald dude and crazy lady,” James whispered, indicating a little old lady sitting alone on a bench. She waved eagerly at Amelie who, a little unnerved by the enthusiastic welcome, waved half-heartedly back.

“I’m not going to study, Jimmy, I’m going to read. There is a subtle difference.”

James sat in the chair next to her, the wood groaning underneath his weight. Amelie tried to read her book, but he kept making funny faces at her, which made her giggle. Giggle? That was something that fourth years did. She hit him around the head with her book, laughing loudly.

“Want to get a Butterbeer?” James pleaded with her, his brown eyes wide. Oh no, thought Rose, he’s pulled out the puppy-dog eyes. Must not surrender to chocolaty goodness.

Amelie looked around the dingy waiting room. She supposed that the Three Broomsticks would be better than this, with its roaring fire and thriving atmosphere. Plus the crazy old lady in the corner was mumbling worryingly underneath her breath, two knitting needles in the air in front of her.

“OK, lets go,” she sighed, closing her book. She had just finished putting it away when James took hold of her hand, impatient to leave the small, dull station. The two teenagers approached the door, passing quickly by the old lady.

“You are a wonderful couple, you know that?” She grinned, showing two missing teeth.

“Yeah we know,” James said quickly, eager to go to the pub. So many strangers guessed that they were a couple that it was second nature to both of them to say that they were. It was quicker and easier than explaining that they ‘just good friends’.

James was looking out of the window into the street - where the rain was still pounding down - waiting for an opportunity to leave. Amelie stared at him, her green eyes wide. It was weird. She had seen him grow up. He used to be this skinny, lanky boy with hair that covered his eyes and a mouth that was too big for his face and an annoyingly overbearing desire to stop his female friends and relatives from dating. She looked down at their entwined hands, her heart thumping in her chest.

They had come close to kissing once. It had been New Year’s Eve and they had been completely drunk and sitting in a dark room with the muffled thud of music from another room. They had got inches apart before James swiftly turned away and vomited. They vowed never to get into that situation again.

And yet here they were. Amelie’s eyes travelled up and down his face, crossing over his hazel eyes and the smattering of freckles over his nose and his lips.

Here’s a chance, Amelie. Take it.

Amelie leaned in and lightly brushed her lips against his cheek. James turned away from the window, gazing at her, and she smiled gently.

“Just playing along with crazy lady, you know, for a change,” she said innocently. A flattering of eyelashes caused James to smile and Amelie suddenly felt very nervous.

James chuckled softly, lifting his hand and tucking a stray piece of dark hair behind her ear. He was so close now that Amelie could count the freckles on his nose and see the holes in the next of his t-shirt.

This was weird. Where was this going?

He kissed her. His soft lips met her own and slowly moved against hers, encouraging her to respond. It wasn’t disgusting, but it wasn’t nice. It was alien and different. This was weird, so weird, as in if-she-had-sisters-she-could-be-in-a-band kind of weird.

James’ hand went from her hip and buried itself into her long, dark hair.

This was weird. She wanted to push him off her, but it did feel nice. James had his arm wrapped around Amelie’s waist, and her hands were resting on his chest. James kissed her tenderly again, his hands rubbing small circles on her back. He’d done this before.

“Hey! You two! I’ll have none of that in my waiting room!” The old man had moved from behind his desk and was frowning and gesticulating at the two teenagers.

Pulling herself away from James, Amelie stared him. He stared back.

“That was weird,” she said but she couldn’t ignore the slightly disappointed look on James’ face, “oh no, not because you’re a bad kisser… I mean, it was nice and that… but I just… it’s just that… I mean…”

“Don’t worry,” he said quietly, “you don’t have to say anything.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine!” James replied, more brightly, “it was weird for me too!” He opened the door and they both left the waiting room, the rain still pouring down. James pulled Amelie along the high street towards Zonko’s, her bag swinging by her side. They stepped inside, and James shook his head like a dog, water spraying everywhere.

“Oh, Jimmy, stop it.”

“I’m sorry,” he said and instead sprayed the water in her direction.

“You arsehole!” Amelie hit him with her bag and as the backed around the corner they bumped into a person. Two persons, they realised after closer inspection, two people so closely intertwined and their faces so closely stuck together Amelie couldn’t tell where one ended and the other began.

When they finally broke apart, with James and Amelie just standing watching them, they smiled giddily at each other, fingers entwined, lovesick puppy dog stares intact.

“Oops,” the boy said happily, throwing an arm around his girlfriend, “we’re just so in love.”

The couple sauntered off into another section of the shop, looking for a dark corner so they could cuddle and smooch and whatever.

“That sort of thing just grosses me out,” Amelie began, shuddering slightly, “like the tongue and the lips. I remember Nick used to be…”

She was caught off guard as James pulled Amelie closer to him and began to kiss her. Again. The breath caught in her throat. He wrapped his arms around her waist and began to kiss her with so much energy that he lifted her off the floor. This wasn’t weird, Amelie thought, and she responded with equal eagerness.

This definitely was not weird.


	2. Potions, Sixth Year

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a reminder that chapters occur out of linear order!

I had always hated Potions. Maybe it is just something I picked up from my dad, but putting pickled toads’ eyes or wolfsbane into a boiling hot cauldron isn’t exactly my idea of fun. Give me a broomstick and I’m yours, but give me deadly nightshade and a bezoar and I have no idea what the hell is going on. To be honest, what Amelie could ever find attractive in this subject I have no idea. You wouldn’t expect her to be the sort of girl to plunge her bare hands into barrels of dragon liver and scoop out great handfuls of the stuff. But, alas, she seems to be made of stronger stuff.

I sat down next to Amelie in our usual space in the back to the dingy dungeon classroom, the rain slashing at the grimy windows. I was prepared to watch her do all the work and slice the old valerian root now and again, but Slughorn decided that it would be ‘fun’ to switch partners for this new topic. By the time you are however old Slughorn is (which is very old), your ideas of fun have severely diminished and therefore the entire class groaned audibly.

“Looks like you might have to do some work for a change,” Amelie whispered into my ear, as Slughorn pinned the new list of partners to the notice board.

“Shut up, Amelie. I do a lot of work, thank you very much,” I retorted and lazily flicked through my potions book, looking at all the pointless doodles and drawings on the inside cover. I heard Amelie scoff disbelievingly as she walked over to the board. She studied the list for a few minutes.

“You’re with Megan Armstrong, Jimmy” she called across the classroom. Amelie was the only one who was ‘allowed’ to call me Jimmy without being hexed. It was something to do with her being my oldest and best friend. If anyone else tried to call me that, I would hex them into next week. Edward Finch-Fetchley still had tentacles.

Most of the students in the classroom were now moving from different tables to sit with their new partners. A pretty, petite Ravenclaw was walking over to my table, her books clutched tightly in her hands. Her group of friends were jumping and giggling behind her, pointing very unsubtly at me. Megan looked at me like I was some sort of saint (which I am, no doubt), her mouth hanging open and perched nervously in the seat beside me, stealing glances at me as I sat casually in my chair. I leaned in close towards her, placing my arm on the back of her chair and she visibly stiffened.

“You won’t mind doing most of the work for me, Meg? It’s just that I’ve got an important Quidditch match coming up soon and I don’t want to strain my arm.”

I flexed my bicep experimentally, her eyes fixed upon it. I can certainly be a charmer when I want to. Megan blushed furiously, smiling broadly.

“Of course, Jimmy,” she said, slightly breathlessly.

I tensed in my chair, my jaw clenched. No one ever calls me Jimmy. I heard Amelie laugh loudly from her bench opposite, her eyes fixed upon mine. I grimaced before removing my arm from Megan’s chair. Her friends were making (obvious) hand gestures towards Megan and giggling profusely. What is with girls and their incessant giggling? I can’t even talk to girl without her bursting into hysterics. It might be (and that means ‘it is obviously’) because I am so astoundingly charming, but it also might be because I’ve got something in my teeth. Apart from Amelie, obviously, but she is a freak that likes Potions. A freak that is partnered with…

What the hell is Charlie Sloper looking at?

Amelie was busy collecting ingredients on the shelf behind their bench and Charlie was checking her out! Don’t get me wrong, Amelie is a pretty girl but it is just damn rude for people to be so disgusting. She is my best friend and I want her dignity to be intact until she finds someone who I feel is suitable, for example some amazingly awesome Quidditch superstar (who could put in a good word for me at the Cannons) or one of my cousins. It wasn’t like I was jealous or harboured some sort of secret desire for Amelie. Nothing like that at all. Never, ever, ever. Well maybe…but no. She was like my sister, an extremely nice-looking sister. Damn it.

I got my wand out of my bag and sneakily hexed him from underneath the table. His hands began to swell to the size of frying pans, his stupid face a perfect picture of shock. Amelie turned and looked straight at me, her green eyes narrowed into a glare. Of course she knew that it was me, because I’d done it once before. And by once, I mean a lot of times. Some time ago, at a Gryffindor Quidditch party, Sid McLaggen was all over her and I decided to intervene before things became a little bit too heated. 

Slughorn waddled over to Amelie and Charlie’s bench, his large belly knocking into tables and cauldrons. He inspected Charlie’s hands, sending him to the hospital wing and blaming it on an incorrect potion. Amelie shot eye daggers at me from across the room and stomped over, looking thunderous. Shit, I’m in deep…shit.

“I’m so angry I could kill someone right now,’ she said through gritted teeth, poking me in the chest.

“Bloody hell, Harris, it was just a potion. I’m sure Slughorn isn’t going to mark you down this one time!’ I said optimistically, leading her over to the ingredients store because Megan, who was working diligently, was craftily eavesdropping in on our conversation. She was still making unsubtle gestures to her giggly friends in the corner.

“You know bloody well this is not about the fucking potion!” She shouted, dropping the jar of leeches she was holding. I jumped out of the way (thank god for Quidditch reflexes) before the shitty little bloodsuckers got into my shoes. Bloody hell, Amelie could be scary sometimes.

“Why do you feel the need to protect me all the time?” Amelie shouted, Megan’s group of Ravenclaw friends looking up at her loud voice, ‘I’m not some little girl who needs looking after!”

“He was checking you out! I didn’t want him to take advantage of you!”

Two girls walked passed Amelie and I, obviously wanting to catch some of the ‘hottest gossip’ straight from the horse’s mouth. Amelie tapped her foot impatiently and the girls threw her dirty looks, which she returned. After the girls left, Amelie grabbed my tie and pulled me closer to her, and for a moment I thought she was going to kiss me.

I wish.

What? I did not just think that. But instead of engaging in a heated match of tonsil tennis, she muttered angrily in my ear.

“If you try to protect me again, I am going to castrate you with my bare hands.”

I gulped. I always underestimate Amelie Harris. Why does no one ever suspect the quiet ones?

Because they’re quiet. Stupid.

Megan Armstrong was still working industriously at our bench, light purple fumes rising from our cauldron. I strolled back towards her, sitting heavily in the chair and running my fingers through my hair. After the ‘catastrophe’ with Charlie Sloper, the dungeon was loud and noisy, people shouting and talking.

“You’re doing a great job, Meg,” I had to whisper in her ear and a blush rose in her cheeks. I gave her the signature Potter smirk and from this close distance I heard her breath quicken. Merlin, I’m good. Amelie walked near our table, hitting me over the head with her elbow and I gasped in pain, rubbing my hand on my head. Amelie gave me a fierce look and I stuck my tongue out at her. She bit back a smile before handing in a sample of her potion.

Looks like I’ll be keeping my privates after all. I can charm my way through anything.

Megan took up our potion vial and returned to our table, cleaning our (and I say ‘our’ quite loosely) ingredients and equipment away. She picked up our cauldron, struggling with the pewter pot.

“Here, let me take that,” I said, winking at her and taking it from her hands. She smiled and walked back towards her friends, who immediately began jumping up and down and clapping their hands excitedly. Megan was whispering hurriedly at them and then they all began giggling.

“They sure do like giggling, those Ravenclaw girls. Personally, I’ve never seen the attraction of being a boy-obsessed girly girl.”

Amelie was standing behind me, her hands on the back of my chair and looking over at the girls.

“It’s because you can’t see the attraction of boys.”

“Oh so you are saying you are attractive?” She remarked, sitting beside me.

“Do you think I am?” Go on, say yes, please. What? James, stop with anarchic thoughts.

She scoffed incredulously. What a booster for my ego.

“Well Megan Armstrong seems to think so,” I answered, waving confidently over at the gaggle of Ravenclaw girls and one of them fainted. Well that has never happened to me before. Ah well, there is a first time for everything. I sighed.

“You are such a wanker...you know that, don’t you?” Amelie questioned, watching as Slughorn bustled through the classroom to send the girl to the hospital wing.

“Hell yes, but you’re still friends with me!”

She shook her head, chuckling softly. The bell rang loudly, echoing throughout the dungeon.

“I’ll see you in the Great Hall, James. I’m going back to the common room,” she said, ruffling my hair fondly. I watched her leave, her long, dark hair swinging slightly as she walked. And then a shifty group of Hufflepuffs pointed at her and I jinxed them, long, white beards protruding from their chins. Yeah, I know what you are thinking, Hufflepuffs are meant to be all loyal and innocent and shit but someone of them are a bit ‘unsubtle’.

I stood up, swinging my bag over my shoulder and making my way over to the classroom door.

“Jimmy, do you want to walk to Charms together, you know, after lunch?” Megan asked, as she flicked her blonde hair over her shoulder, her face reddening.

Why the hell does no one get that I don’t want to be called Jimmy? I stared at Megan, who looked at me expectantly. I ran my hand through my hair, looking down at the small girl.

“Err…sorry but no thanks. And don’t call me Jimmy.”

And she burst into tears, right in front of me. Well, this couldn’t get any more awkward. With Amelie as my best friend, and as she is an iron lady, I’ve never really had to endure any girly emotional stuff. And my sister Lily is only in second year, so she hasn’t had any problems with boyfriends yet (I hope, otherwise there will be serious hexing going on).

All I can say is, thank Merlin for Amelie’s forgetfulness.

“Hey Jimmy, I just forgot my…Megan, are you alright?” She said, immediately wrapping her arm around her shoulder.

“Oh so you’re allowed to call him that!” Megan wailed, shrugging Amelie’s arm off her and running off back to her friends. Amelie glared at me as if I had done something wrong.

“What did you do?”

“I told her not to call me Jimmy and she burst into tears. You know how I can’t deal with all that emotional stuff,” I said obviously.

“You can deal with me,” she pointed out, picking up her forgotten book.

“I don’t ‘deal’ with you,” I answered, “it’s not my fault you have a heart of stone.”

She laughed, linking her arm with mine and steering me out of the dungeon. It was raining outside and I spotted several Herbology students tearing up the hill from the greenhouses, robes pulled up against the storm. Amelie was staring behind us, her neck twisting awkwardly.

“Look! Owen Cauldwell has a beard!”

I froze, unsure of what to say. I’ll have to say goodbye to my privates if I say anything. Act cool, Potter.

“I didn’t do it.”

“What didn’t you do?” She asked.

“Err…nothing,” I prevaricated, stuffing my hands in my pockets. I’m so smooth.

“I am very flattered, James, but sometimes you’ve got to let me fight my own battles,” Amelie said pleadingly, turning back around and placing both of her hands on my shoulders. She looked very pretty today, her green eyes bright. 

She’s like my sister, a very attractive sister who I might like to kiss one day.

That’s incest. That’s disgusting. And illegal.

OK maybe I’ll just scrap the whole sister idea and keep thinking of her as my best friend. And people are allowed to kiss their best friends, aren’t they? Damn it, she looks hot in her school uniform. And that is an achievement because even Victoire didn’t look nice in hers, and she is quarter-Veela. 

“Sure,” I muttered distractedly. I find my best friend hot. Oh my god, crisis. OK, that sounded really girly. And I’m not a girl, because I play manly Quidditch, have chest hair and think girls are hot. Girls like my best friend.

Shit.


	3. Train Ride, First Year

11-year Amelie Harris stood nervously on the platform, her long dark hair draping messily around her shoulders. A small, black cat was purring inside a wicker basket, his claws scratching at the metal covering. She set it down on the floor and carefully poked some treats through the metal bars.

She looked up at her mother who was talking animatedly to a wizard she had never seen before. Amelie had inherited her green eyes from her mother, but her dark hair was from her father. Her mother used to have brown hair, but now it was a bright peroxide blonde. It was usually straight as well, but because of the rain, it was slowly turning frizzy. Florence Harris had an ‘all-year tan’ and her make-up was always perfectly applied. 

The wizard she was talking to was very handsome, with tanned skin and blonde, flowing hair. Amelie’s mother was batting her fake eyelashes and flirting with him. Amelie hated it when she did that. It always meant that they would be married soon and Amelie would have to wear an uncomfortable dress and stand by an altar and…

“Amy, honey, come and meet Bartholomew. He’s an Auror. He works for the ministry,” her mother smiled, gesturing to the handsome man. She said the last few words with sickening importance, as if there was an excuse for her to sink her long, acrylic claws into him. 

It wasn’t that Amelie hated her mother, because she loved her very much, it was just the way she used people. All of her ex-husbands had been wealthy men, but each marriage had ended horribly - either with a high profile divorce or in one case, a death (Amelie’s mother had managed to inherit a large country house and several millions pounds out of that one). This new, handsome man looked slightly awkward when he saw Amelie, but he smiled and held out his hand for Amelie to shake.

“Florence,” he said, through gritted teeth, to her mother, “you didn’t tell me you had a daughter. Isn’t she a pretty little thing?”

“Oh yes,” she replied, squeezing Amelie’s cheeks between her dainty, fake-tanned hands, “she is the centre of my world.”

“Really?” Amelie said, her voice muffled, “because that is what you said to Nathaniel in your vows. Or was that Charles? I can never remember which one.”

Amelie saw her mother’s eyes darken and her jaw clench. She looked like she was about to slap somebody, but Amelie was saved by Bartholomew. He pointed over her mother’s shoulder.

“Look, it’s Harry Potter!” He shouted, and most of the people on the platform turned around.

Amelie looked around her mother to see a tall man, with black hair, green eyes and glasses standing with his arm wrapped around a pretty woman with long, red hair. A little girl with wide, brown eyes was hanging off her mother’s hand and a boy with black hair and glasses was running around, chasing pigeons off the platform. Between the two adults stood a small, dark-haired boy wearing scruffy denim shorts and a Chudley Cannons t-shirt, looking as nervous as Amelie felt. Several paparazzi stood around them, taking photos of the family and the dark-haired boy looked slightly flustered.

“Hey James, turn and face me for a second…”

“Are you worried about the sorting task? Do you think it will be something scary?”

“Jimmy! How do you feel about your first day of school?”

“I…err…” the boy mumbled, wincing at the flashes of the camera.

Amelie’s mother ran over to ‘Bartholomew’, her heels clicking loudly on the stone floor. 

“Why don’t you go and talk to him about work or something and then you can introduce me?” She asked excitedly, her eyes flicking between Harry Potter and Bartholomew. He looked uncomfortable, running a hand through his neat hair.

“I don’t actually work with him, Flo. I’m just an intern.” 

“Oh.” Amelie’s mother took her hand of his arm, her face the perfect picture of disgust. 

_And another one bites the dust,_ Amelie thought. _It’s a shame; I really bonded with Bart._

 

 

“Look! Amelie! It’s Ginny Potter! She used to play for the Holyhead Harpies, you like them, don’t you?” her mother said, jumping up and down with excitement.

“Nice of you to take an interest,” Amelie mumbled, turning away from the throng of people towards her trunk. The shouts and flashes of the camera were giving her a headache. She bent down to unfasten the latch on the cat’s basket, her hands fumbling with the leather strap. When she was done, her cat shot out quickly, running to the other end of the platform. Amelie groaned loudly, and began to traipse lazily after it.

She weaved through the crowd, calling its name. She reached the end of platform, looking in every nook and cranny for it. Instead she found the small, dark-haired Potter boy hiding in an alcove, stroking the black cat.

“Gwenog, there you are,” she said, reaching down to take the kitten out of the boy’s hands.

“Gwenog? As in Gwenog Jones of the Holyhead Harpies?” His voice was confident and loud, echoing around the alcove. He had freckles and a scrawny, lanky build.

“Yeah. You support them?”

He scoffed at her, pointing to his t-shirt.

“You think? My sister Lily supports them though - my mum used to play for the team.”

“So you’re Jimmy,” Amelie said happily, sitting down against the brick wall, Gwenog in her lap.

“I hate it when people call me that,” he muttered grumpily, pouting slightly.

“You mean you hate when paparazzi call you that,” she clarified, “is that why you are hiding here?”

The boy seemed to take offence from this and puffed out his chest, “I don’t hide from anyone. My dad is Harry Potter.”

“So I’ve heard,” Amelie said, “Thanks for looking after the cat.”

“No problem. What’s your name?”

“Amelie.”

“Nice name.”

“Thanks Jimmy,” Amelie laughed. James pinched her on the arm and she yelped in pain.

“No fair! I was just making a joke!” She cried, rubbing her arm.

“It wasn’t very funny,” James replied sulkily, crossing his arms in front of his chest.

A large belt of steam sounded loudly throughout the platform, and there was suddenly a flurry of movement in the crowd: mothers hugging, trunks shifting, owls hooting. Amelie stood hurriedly; clutching Gwenog in her hands and ran towards her mother, James close on her heels.

After locking the cat securely in her basket and dragging her trunk onto the train, she returned to see her mother eyeing up another young man wearing a dragon skin suit. Bartholomew looked slightly dejected, leaning grumpily against a wall nearby.

“That man over there is Mr. Jiggers of Slug & Jiggers Apothecaries. They are known all over the world! Do you reckon he is single?” She asked breathlessly, waving seductively at the man, who waved awkwardly back.

“See you later, Mum,” Amelie said tediously, leaving Florence Harris to saunter over to her next marital victim. Amelie looked over at the Potters, who were having a very emotional goodbye, the paparazzi having a field day. She felt a pang of jealousy and returned to see her mother carelessly flirting with a man she didn’t know, but would no doubt marry in a couple of weeks.

She stepped back onto the train and walked down the aisle, peeking into every compartment for a free space to sit. She saw a group of sinister Slytherins, looking haughty and ominous (Amelie walked quickly passed that compartment). She had finally reached the end of the train when she heard someone calling her name. James Potter was standing behind her and gesturing to a door on her right, his messy hair flopping in his eyes.

“Hello James.”

“You can sit with us, if you want to,” he smiled at her.

She nodded in agreement and walked towards the door. She would, no doubt, do something very clumsy in front of James and his famous cousins. On true form, Amelie walked straight into the very clean door, her head ringing. She staggered backwards and James caught her. He was surprisingly strong, despite his gangly frame.

When Amelie finally managed to enter the compartment, James introduced her to Teddy and Victoire. Both were very beautiful and both slightly intimidating. Victoire had long, blonde hair and strikingly blue eyes, which contrasted with her pale skin (Amelie’s mother had told her that the Potters had Veela relatives). Teddy had light brown hair, dark eyes and handsome, chiseled features. 

“Ted, Victoire, this is Amelie.”

Victoire stood gracefully and hugged Amelie tightly. Amelie patted her half-heartedly on the back, not knowing how to respond to such an enthusiastic welcome. Teddy chuckled behind her.

“Don’t worry about the door,” Victoire whispered in her ear, “I did it my first time too.”

Amelie stared at her, wondering how someone so elegant and beautiful could do something so ungainly and awkward. She muttered weakly about clean glass and sat down next to James, who had taken out a copy of the Quibbler.

“You read the Quibbler?’ Amelie asked James, surprised.

“Occasionally. We know the editor. Sometimes some of the stories are a bit rubbish though. Did you hear the thing it said about Gilderoy Lockhart actually being a woman?” 

‘But you can’t blame the journalist, have you seen him lately?’ She said.

The rest of the train journey passed comfortably (apart from a bit spent awkwardly avoiding Teddy and Victoire kiss). Amelie was introduced to Fred and Roxanne, twins in their second year, who turned Victoire's hair a violent shade of orange. She had docked points from Gryffindor before they had even arrived at school. Victoire had returned breathless from chasing the twins down the corridor to find that Teddy had endearingly changed his hair to the exact same colour. 

The lunch trolley arrived, and Amelie bought chocolate frogs and other sweets. James managed to buy (and eat) almost half the trolley, stuffing his face with pies and cakes.

“I’ll be right back,” Amelie said, about half an hour away from Hogwarts, “I’m going to change into my robes.” She picked up her bag and walked towards the door, being careful to open it before going out.

There were people everywhere. Their faces were pushed up against the glass windows of their compartments, staring at Amelie with wide, jealous eyes. She walked cautiously down the corridor, her bag clutched in her hands as people continued to stare.

“How come she gets to be friends with the Potter boy?” She heard one girl whisper behind her, “she isn’t even pretty.” Amelie’s face flushed with anger, turning around to confront the girl.

“Well apparently, you are stupid enough.”

The girl looked shocked and insulted, her mouth hanging open.

“And you don’t suit the goldfish look,” Amelie finished, pushing past the girl and continuing down the corridor. She smiled inwardly to herself as she heard gossiping and whispering. 

“You can’t talk to me like that,” the girl continued, jabbing her finger into Amelie’s chest, “you are just a first year.”

“She can talk to you however she wants.”

Amelie turned and saw Teddy and Victoire walking down the corridor, the entire crowd turning silent as they approached. Amelie saw James behind them, and she flashed him a large grin. He gave her the thumbs up.

“All of you get back to your compartments before I give you all detention,” Teddy shouted of the heads of the muttering crowd, Head Boy badge gleaming on his chest.

Amelie found it strange how James and his cousins had defended her, even though she had only met them a few hours ago. She had never known her father, and with her mother off gallivanting with various husbands and lovers, she had never really known what having a family was like. Amelie reminded herself of the Potters heartfelt goodbye at the station, and she remembered how jealous she felt. No one had ever been like that with her.

After she had changed, she walked back to the compartment, where James was sitting alone. 

“Ted and Victoire have gone on rounds,” he said.

Amelie nodded and sat down next to him, smoothing out her new school skirt. The rain was pouring down now, slashing against the windows.

“Where did you learn comebacks like that?” he asked impatiently, turning around to face her.

‘Err…well,’ Amelie did not really want to tell James about her mother’s obsession with marriage (and divorce), seeing as she had only met the boy a few hours ago. She looked at him, his pale face eager and excited.

“I’ve grown up with a lot of stepbrothers and sisters who hate you because your mother is replacing their own. And by a lot, I mean a lot. You have to be prepared,” she answered timidly, her dark hair falling in front of her face. She expected James to stand up and leave, believing he would think her the daughter of some sort of tart, too nonsensical to be associated with. She was surprised when he put his arm around her shoulder.

‘I’ll let you call me Jimmy,’ he said.

‘No you won’t,’ Amelie replied amusedly and slightly relieved, “you’ll hate it.”

“That’s true,” he laughed, “don’t call me it again.”

“OK, Jimmy!” Amelie said, giggling.

“You asked for it!”

James leapt on Amelie, pushing her off the seat and onto the floor where they began an intense tickling match, their laughter loud and hysterical. Victoire Weasley stood watching from the doorway, a small smile gracing her perfect features. Teddy Lupin wrapped his strong arms around her waist and rested his head on top of hers.

“They are so mature for 11-year olds,” she remarked sarcastically.


	4. Common Room, Sixth Year

James Potter II was sitting casually on a Gryffindor sofa, his arm resting along the back of the sofa and whispering seductively in a girl’s ear. She giggled stupidly, hitting him playfully on the arm.

“We can’t do that,” she said, tapping him on the nose. James sat back dejectedly and let out a low whistle.

“Besides I have to get to Charms club, see you later Jamesy,” she kissed him longingly on the lips, her dainty hand resting on his chest. 

“Are you sure I can’t tempt you?” He asked huskily and the girl giggled again. She bit her finger in deliberation, as if thinking (stress on the ‘as if’).

“Sorry, Jamesy-poo,” she blew him a kiss and battered her long eyelashes. James watched her leave and then let out a loud sigh.

“Jamesy-poo? Really? I’m sorry for you, mate.”

Fred Weasley sat down next to James on the sofa; Quidditch plans with thousands of tiny pitch diagrams clutched in his fingers. 

“Quidditch practice is cancelled - the weather is too rough,” he explained.

“But we have got the cup final tomorrow!”

“We’ll be fine…we flattened Ravenclaw last year.”

Fred took after his mother in many ways; he was a very talented Quidditch player and he was very good looking. He and James were often the subjects of the girls’ bathroom talk. They practically had the girls falling at their feet. And boy, did they know it.

“Anyway, I thought you’d have dumped her by now. Fuck and chuck and all that.”

“Shut up, Freddie,” James whispered, looking around the crowded common room, “if Amelie hears you saying that, she’s going to go into her massive long speech about women’s rights and sensitivity.”

Fred nodded sincerely and there was silence. He revised his Quidditch notes and James awkwardly hummed a Weird Sisters tune, tapping his hands to the beat.

“Well?”

“I’m not getting any,” James replied quickly.

“Shit. What are you going to do?”

“I don’t know. I guess I could keep asking.”

Fred laughed, “Bad move, mate. No one likes to be pressurised.”

“Says the guy who got dumped by his girlfriend about two hours ago,” James retorted, his anger mounting, “did Alice not like to be pressurised?”

He hadn’t been having a good day. Perhaps he'd visit the Shrieking Shack with the bottle of firewhiskey he kept stored in his trunk for emergencies. 

First, he’d got a detention for pissing around in Divination and then he’d heard several rumours about Rose and Scorpius Malfoy. _Going out? I don’t think so._ James had quickly found his cousin and interrogated her about it, and she denied any non-platonic connection with the boy. _Thank Merlin._ They broke up for the summer holidays in three days and at least then he’ll be able to keep an eye on her and he would know if the rumours were true. Scorpius practically lived at Godric's Hollow during the summer because of Albus. James practically lived at Teddy's because of this.

And then of course, there was the whole Amelie situation. She was in his head.

Fred gave a sharp intake of breath, knocking James out of his thoughts.

“Low blow, James, low blow.”

“Sorry, Freddie. I’m a bit…you know…frustrated,” James muttered.

“How delicately put,” Fred answered, looking over James’ shoulder and clenching his jaw. He returned to his Quidditch notes and crossed out several diagrams fiercely, his quill piercing the parchment. What made him so angry? James turned, and spotted a Gryffindor prefect flirting shamelessly with Fred’s ex in the corner of the common room. To be honest, she looked a bit scared. Fred stood and walked purposefully over to her.

“Back off, Larter,” he said threateningly to the other boy. The prefect stuck out his chest, flashing his prefect badge with all the courage he could muster seeing as a 6-foot hunk of seventh-year Quidditch keeper was looming over him.

James stared back into the fire, ignoring the argument in the corner that was slowly growing more heated. Threats of murder from Fred, threats of detention from the prefect and a squeal of terror from Alice as Fred finally punched Larter square on the nose. 

James heard all of these noises as though through a thick fog, as if his ears were blocked with foam. He was too distracted by the way the flames were dancing and flickering in the grate, his eyes watering slightly from the heat. Someone calling his name shook him out of thoughts. 

“Hey Potter. You look hot today.”

He turned around, and saw a leggy blonde walking towards him, her school skirt higher than average. James ruffled his hair and plastered his signature smirk on his face, his eyes travelling up her body.

“Aah, Watson. Prepared for tomorrow’s game?” He said smoothly, getting up from the sofa and standing next to her.

“Actually, Potter, do you want to come up to my dorm and help me with my technique?” She licked her lips seductively.

“What exactly are you having trouble with?” He answered coquettishly, his hand ruffling his hair once again.

“Well usually,” she stood closer to him, her hands playfully flirtatiously with his tie and looking at up him through her long eyelashes, “it’s my broom handling skill…”

Watson was interrupted as someone had just fallen unceremoniously through the portrait hole.

“Oopsy-daisy.” Amelie lay sprawled on the floor, a half empty bottle of firewhisky clutched in her hand.

Jumping into ‘best friend’ mode, James stepped away from Watson. Amelie’s eyes were open, and she was pointing at the ceiling of the common room with her free hand, tracing the lines in the wooden carving. Several scared looking first years were staring at her, their mouths hanging open. James shooed them away, and they ran quickly to the other side of the room.

“Amelie?”

“Jimmy! I like you!”

“I’m sure you do,” James said, “Do you want to try and stand up?”

“No,” Amelie shouted defiantly, “I am admiring the woodwork in the ceiling.” A number of other students were eyeing Amelie suspiciously and several fourth years were giggling stupidly. Watson was still standing by the fireplace, her face the perfect picture of rejection.

“What about my broom-handling technique?” She yelled after James.

“I’m a bit busy, Watson,” James shouted back, lifting Amelie into his arms and carrying her carefully towards the staircases. He had only put one foot on the staircase when it rapidly turned into a slide.

“Bloody thing,” James muttered angrily. Amelie hushed him, attempting to put a finger to his lips but missing and hitting him on the cheek before laughing hysterically. James smiled affectionately.

“I’m tired,” Amelie yawned, placing her arms around James’ neck and nuzzling into his chest. He couldn’t help but notice how natural this felt; _apart from the fact that she is hammered,_ James thought, _classy._

“Let’s get you to bed,” he replied, and began climbing the boys’ staircase.

Amelie smelt of alcohol. She had only once before been drunk at school, in fifth year, when she had a fight with her mother. James had supposed that was the way that she dealt with stuff, not being the type of girl to reveal her feelings through heart-to-hearts. He had no idea what to do then, being the insensitive and naïve 15-year old and had merely called Rose into help, her being the sensible and mature third year.

 _“That’s how my mum usually gets over a divorce,”_ Amelie had said, _‘but I suppose that’s not exactly the greatest example in the world.’_

“I love you, Jimmy,” Amelie mumbled, her breath tickling and warm on his throat. His heart gave a funny leap in his chest at her words, although he immediately dismissed them as drunken ramblings. She couldn’t think the same way about him, it wasn’t possible. He was still the insensitive and naïve (albeit handsome) wanker that he was in fifth year, and she was this beautiful, funny and smart girl. She was Amelie.

‘I don’t feel too good,” she slurred, her face pale and pasty. 

“Oh crap,” James said loudly, carrying her quickly to the bathroom, “you wait there and sit by the toilet…and if…you know.” He left her leaning against the bathroom wall, her head lolling onto her chest. James raced back down the stairs into the common room to find Fred and Alice kissing passionately in the corner, Larter the prefect out cold on the floor.

“James! What’s wrong?” Rose Weasley came over to him, her long curly hair bouncing slightly.

“Aah, Rose, perfect. Amelie is upstairs and…” James did a slight double take, staring at her, “what happened to you? You look a bit…dishevelled.”

Rose blushed, patting her hair.

“Err…well…the thing is…”

“Hey Rose, did you find your Potions book in the dungeons?” A very pretty blonde girl walked over to James and Rose, a slight French accent to her voice. Rose look confused and Dom nudged her in the ribs, and she gasped in pain.

“Oh hello Dom,” Rose said, through gritted teeth, attempting to be courteous.

“Dungeons? What?” James questioned, looking from Dominique to Rose and back again. They both shifted uncomfortably.

“What happened to Amelie?” Rose said quickly, changing the subject.

“Oh right,” James said, remembering the drunken girl upstairs, “well, she had quite a lot to drink and now…”

“You need someone to go sort her out because you’re afraid to touch her even though you seemed to have kissed every girl in your year apart from Amelie?” Dom said smoothly. James’ stomach disappeared at the thought of kissing his best friend, running his hand through his already unruly hair. He paused a moment to think what it would be like if they were together, his mind going off into a blissful daydream. He only realised that Rose and Dominique were still there when Dom slapped him lightly on the cheek.

“James?”

“Err…yeah…something like that,” he said vaguely, looking at his shoes.

“Oh Merlin…you like her, don’t you?”

“What? No I don’t!” James objected.

“Yes! You do!’ Rose said, poking him in the chest, “you were just daydreaming about kissing her!”

James’ eyes flicked upwards to look at them. He was about to protest but he knew it was no good. Although he looked a lot like his father, he had inherited the Weasley-trait blush and Dominique and Rose stared at him with surprised looks on their faces. Since when did girls become so observant? James thought angrily.

“I can’t believe this,” Rose said in astonishment. 

“Me neither,” Dominique snorted disbelievingly, “you actually fancy a girl for a change. I always thought you had a heart of stone. Looks like I underestimated you.”

James opened his mouth to retort but Rose cut across him.

“I had the idea that you fancied Felicity Bennet,” she said quietly, indicating a pretty girl sitting with her friends at a table nearby, “and you know how Potter men always fall for the redheads, and I reckon she’s got a tinge of the ginge.”

“So that explains the crazy over protectiveness - that was worthy of Ronald Weasley.”

“Hey! Back off my dad! Anyway James, weren’t you kissing Sarah Verner before she went to Charms club?” Rose questioned, raising her eyebrows.

“You sure have a funny way of showing your budding affection for your best friend.”

“I saw him flirting with Georgia Watson a few minutes ago!”

“God James you are such a man whore!” Dominique said, disgusted.

James allowed the two girls to continue their top-speed but pointless nattering. He never listened anyway. Finally, after several minutes, they seemed to remember why James had even talked to them in the first place.

“So, where is your lady lover?” Dom asked in a voice she presumed was seductive, waggling her eyebrows.

James sighed at their immaturity, “I’ll show you,” he said, and bounded back up the boys’ staircase, Rose and Dominique close on his heels. Once in the dormitory, James opened the door to the bathroom and the two girls rushed in, slamming the door behind them.

“Hey!” James shouted in protest.

Rose opened the bathroom door an inch and poked her head out, “sorry, James, but I think you might overload if you watch Amelie showering.”

Holy fuck. _Get your mind out of the gutter, James._

“What?” James stammered, struggling to get the words out. Rose stepped out of the bathroom, closing the door firmly behind her. She placed a hand on James’ shoulder and began steering him towards his dorm.

“While you were questioning me about my activities in the dungeons, Amelie threw up. So we going to have to get her cleaned up. Now you sit in here,” she opened the door to his dormitory, “and think about Uncle Percy having sex. That should sort out your libido.”

‘I hate you, Rose,’ James groaned, falling grumpily onto his bed as his red headed cousin ran back to the bathroom.

 

“You finished yet?”

“Just a second!”

James was pacing along the corridor outside the bathroom when the door opened and Amelie came rushing out, her hair damp from the shower and wearing pyjama trousers and a t-shirt he recognised as his own. She flung her arms around him.

“Jimmy!” She yelled, obviously still very drunk. James looked over her shoulder at his two cousins. Rose was carrying a small vial of blue potion and when Amelie finally unattached herself from James, she gave it to him.

“I got some Sober-Up Solution. She needs to drink all of it. When she does, she’ll probably pass out. So make sure she’s on a bed or something.”

“So you’re not taking her back to the girls’ dorms?” James said, pulling Amelie away from the top of the stairs to avoid her falling down them.

“James, we can hardly carry and control a drunk 17-year old up the stairs,” Dom interrupted, “besides I thought you might like her to spend the night in your boudoir.” She wiggled her eyebrows knowingly. 

“Who calls it a boudoir anymore?” James scowled at her. Rose rolled her eyes, looking more like her mother every single day.

Amelie was now spinning around, her arms and hair flying.

“Jesus James, just get her to bed!” Dominique said, ducking as one of Amelie’s arms flew dangerously close to her head. Rose quickly handed him the vial before Dom began pulling her down the staircase by the arm.

“She has to drink it all. Remember to put her on a bed before she passes out!” She shouted behind her.

“Fine! Leave me here with crazy drunken girl!” James stared desperately after his cousins, clutching the potion in his hand and momentarily forgetting that Amelie was whirling around behind him. Her hand hit the back of his head.

“Come on, Amelie,” he said, rubbing the sore area at the back of his head, “time for bed.”


	5. Hogsmeade, Seventh Year

The wall of the Three Broomsticks was cold and rough against my back, but I didn't care. His warm body has pressed against mine so the autumn chill didn't reach me, and his hot breath tickled my face and skin. I leaned my head back, and he began to kiss my neck again, his hands wrapped loosely around my waist. I giggled.

_What?_

I never giggle. I never, ever giggle. Sure I laugh, but that's usually a really loud and unattractive snort that is not in any way effeminate. James seemed to notice it as well, as he had moved away from neck and looked at me, his brow wrinkled in confusion.

"Did you just giggle?" He asked, tucking a stray piece of damp hair behind my ear.

"Apparently so," I answered, "you seem to bring it out in me."

James laughed softly, and pressed his lips to mine. I smiled against them, and ran my fingers through his unruly hair, which was still wet from the rain pouring down around us. I pushed him gently away from me, my hands lingering on his chest.

"When do we need to get the coaches?" 

James groaned, placing his hands on either side of my head and leaning in to kiss me. I dodged out of the way, his lips landing on my cheek.

"James..." I said warningly, ducking from underneath his arms. I was just about to walk out of the alleyway when he grabbed my hand. 

It was different to when he had done it before, and I felt the warmth and the ease at which his fingers slotted perfectly into mine. It surprised me. I had boyfriends before, and before James castrated them or I found out that they were cheating bastards, I never knew of the 'perfect hand-hold' as my wonderfully descriptive dorm mates called them. Not that James and I were boyfriend and girlfriend material anyway; it was far too platonic and far too incestuous for my liking. No, this was merely bottled up hormones from the summer, which I was surprised James had. Usually he picks up some sort of Muggle girl from Godric's Hollow.

I gasped slightly when he turned me around to look at him, his face just centimetres from my own.

"Why are you in such a hurry to start school?" He muttered, smirking.

"Why are you so testosterone fuelled?" I replied, laughing. Pulling my hand out of his - reluctantly I might add - I stepped into the street and from under the cover of the roof. The rain seeped through my clothes and onto my skin.

James muttered something quietly from behind me, and I stopped in my tracks, tapping my foot impatiently. It was cold, and I had started shivering. Looking over my shoulder, I saw that he had followed out onto the high street and his dark hair was plastered to his forehead and his smug smile had disappeared. He was staring at me intently. I'm not going to lie; it was a little bit weird. It was like he had properly seen for the first time that day.

"What are you muttering about now?" I said, raising an eyebrow quizzically.

At my words, he seemed to snap out of it, running his own hand through his damp hair and plastering his signature smirk on his face. There's the James I know and love. Well, love is a strong word. Smirking James just infuriates me.

"Nothing, Amelie."

"Good, because I'm fucking freezing."

"I can think of a way to warm you up," he replied cheekily, wrapping his arm around my waist and pulling me towards him.

"A Butterbeer! You are right!" I answered him jokingly, pushing him away from me and running towards the entrance of the Three Broomsticks, the rainwater sloshing around my ankles. I tried to ignore the look of disappointment on his face. Men only ever have one thing on their mind. Well, two for James - he quite likes Quidditch.

The pub was surprising empty when I entered, James trudging in behind me. He shook his hair like a wet dog, and an old lady sitting near the entrance tutted noisily. I ordered two Butterbeers from the bar and sat down. I started a conversation, but James just replied with stupid monosyllabic answers, so it ended up being a monologue from yours truly.

"Merlin, Jimmy. Why don't you cheer up a bit? You look like you've just seen the Dark Mark or something," I said, sipping from my bottle.

"Sorry," he mumbled, pulling his drink towards him.

"Are you really that upset about before? Because I am sure Georgia Watson is free when we get to school."

So apparently this upset him even more. It was meant to be a joke. _Are my jokes that bad?_ And you think men are so predictable. One minute they are the world's biggest player and the next they are Mr. Sensitive. Merlin, make up your mind. He slammed his drink onto the table and stormed out of the pub. I got up hurriedly, pressed a galleon into Rosmerta's hand and approached the doorway. The old woman was muttering again.

It was still raining when I got outside, looking up and down Hogsmeade high street for a sign of James. If I knew him at all, he was probably running towards the Shrieking Shack. In third year, he told me about the story of his grandfather and namesake and his Hogwarts pals. Whenever James feels down, he always visits the Shrieking Shack- so that is where I always know where to find him. I looked at my watch. We still had at least two hours before the other students arrived and we had to get the coaches up to school. I set off at a run.

And stopped almost as suddenly. I had seen him, and he was sitting in the alleyway where we had kissed, his head in his hands, and looking very serious and deep and emotional and everything.

"Jimmy?"

"Fuck off."

_What a polite and friendly boy my best friend is._ I sat down next to him, and rested my head on his shoulder. I felt him shiver from the cold, and I put my arm around him.

"What's wrong?" I asked.

"Nothing," he replied curtly, shrinking out of my arms. He turned away from me and sat facing the opposite end of the alleyway like a sulking child. How mature.

"Well I can really work with that," I commented sarcastically. James laughed, but it wasn't his usual bark like laugh, but short and scornful.

"Is it me?" I continued.

"Yes and no."

"Yet again, you're not really helping me here James."

He stood up suddenly and began pacing up and down the street. I watched him walk to the end, then turn and walk back. He repeated this over and over again.

"Is it what I said before?" I persisted as he began running his hands through his hair, "because it was meant to be a joke. You've never usually taken so much offence to the sexual activities of Georgia Watson. In fact," I added on as an afterthought, "you usually encourage them."

He laughed again. It was still short and scornful. _Not getting anywhere here, Amelie._

"So is it what I said about Watson?"

"Yes and no."

"You haven't got her pregnant, have you?" I whispered scandalously. 

"Don't be stupid Amelie," he answered viciously, still pacing.

"Then tell me what the problem is!" I shouted, jumping up and stopping him in his tracks, my hands resting on his shoulders.

"Listen, James," I said, "I need you tell me what is bothering you." I was genuinely interested; I knew that it was about me. Maybe that whole 'getting-drunk-because-your-mum-is-an-uber-bitch' thing before the summer was a bit over the top. He probably freaked out.

"Is it about last year? Just before we broke up for summer?"

"Yeah, sort of," he said, his eyes avoiding mine.

"I'm sorry, I just overreacted to Mum getting married again. You know how she is and I suppose..."

"It's not about that, Amelie; it's definitely not about that. I had just realised then."

"Realised what, James?" I asked.

James blushed. That meant something. I will know whether he is lying or not; he always blushes when he has got something to hide.

"James..." I said warningly, "what had you realised?"

He had begun pacing again, pushing past me to resume his rapid walking. I ran my hands through my hair in frustration (a habit I had picked up from James) and lent against the wall, closing my eyes in an attempt to calm me down.

"I am sick of asking you questions!" I said loudly (obviously closing my eyes had not worked), "what did you realise?"

"That I liked...cockroach cluster," he offered weakly, blushing again. I sighed desperately. I had a sneaking suspicion that this was quite big. James would never ever admit to liking cockroach cluster.

"Jimmy..."

He stopped pacing. He looked at me. Suddenly, I was nervous.

"I like you."

"Well you have to like me, I'm your best friend, we have been for...oh."

Realisation hit me like the Hogwarts Express. James liked me liked me. I looked back at him, and he looked nervous, as if waiting for me to run away from him at about several thousand miles per hour. I wasn't going to do that. I owed him that much. 

But I wasn't sure whether I was able to throw my arms around his neck and kiss him either. I enjoyed spending time with him. I loved spending time with him. He's funny, he's sweet, and he's popular. Perhaps too popular. I think that is why I was hesitant. I thought that this was one of the stupid romantic stints he plays on girls he wants to sleep with. But I had seen him with other girls, Georgia Watson for example, and telling them that he liked them never seemed to be the problem. _Then why had he been so hesitant with me?_

"So before when I...oh. James, I'm sorry," I hugged him, my arms around his neck, and his hands around my waist. After a couple of moments, I pulled my head back, and suddenly he was there. We were standing face to face; his lips just centimetres from mine, his arms wrapped me. Our foreheads were touching. I feel his breath on my face again, and I was reminded of the kisses we shared in the alleyway.

"Amelie..." James whispered, and he leaned in.

I pulled back. 

"No," I said quietly, "I don't want to be some plaything."

"I love you."

He said it quickly, as if it had spilled out accidentally, and I stared at him. He stared right back, his gaze sincere. It was the most serious I had ever seen him. There was no blush. It was the truth.

"Really?" I whispered. Talking too loud would ruin the moment.

"Yes."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes."

"Say it again."

"Amelie."

"Do it."

"I love you."

"Then why didn't you tell..." I was cut off. He had kissed me. He had pressed his lips against mine, and we were kissing, gently and softly. All too soon he pulled away, and I heard him chuckle. I still had my eyes closed.

"I can stop, if you want."

Obviously I couldn't speak, so I merely shook my head. He waited, as if wanting my vocal permission to continue.

"Kiss me," I said breathlessly. I could feel his breath quickening against my lips.

"Really?"

"Yes."

"Are you sure? Because I don't want to ruin the moment by asking too many questions," He said sarcastically.

"James," I warned, "don't do this to me. Merlin knows how long you've waited for this."

"Well I thought this morning's show was the real thing, but then you so rudely rejected me," he added jokily.

"It's not my fault I thought you had left over hormones from the summer."

'Is that what you thought it was?"

"Yes. It was obvious that your little Muggle slut didn't satisfy you enough," I retorted snappily. 

"Amelie, are you jealous?" He asked patronisingly.

"Oh just kiss me, James."

And he did. He leaned in quickly, grasping the back of my neck and giving me a kiss that was so full of passion, urgency and desperation that if I weren't supported against a wall, I would have fallen. My knees were weak and my heart was about to make a desperate break for freedom - through my chest. It was beating so hard that I wasn't sure whether James could hear it. It was different to this morning; I suppose knowing that someone loves you really makes the difference in a kiss.

But how would I know? Nicholas Clements had hardly been a lothario.

James pushed me against the wall, his body was so close to mine that his scent engulfed me and I wondered why we hadn't been doing this for seven years. Then I realised that 11 is a little young to be dating. Then all thoughts about sex crazed 11-year olds left my mind as he worked wonders with his lips. He pulled away from me gently, and rested his forehead against mine.

"I like you too, James."

"Like? _Like?_ I just fucking declared my love for you, and all you can do is 'like'?" He teased, finding my hand and kissing it softly.

"Love is a little soon, don't you think?" I asked, smiling cheekily.

"Obviously not for me. It's like my grandparents all over again."

"Plus I'm still waiting for Georgia Watson to make an appearance."

"What is with you and Georgia Watson?" He asked exasperatedly, leading me out of the alleyway, and pulling me closer to him to protect me from the rain.

I never knew he was such a gentleman.


	6. Part 1: Christmas, Fourth Year

It was cold, and Amelie Harris sat shivering in the back of the Potter’s car. Her teeth were chattering as she was squashed between James and Albus, a Snitch flying around her head and Quaffle being passed between the two boys. Celestina Warbeck blurted out from the car stereo and Lily spoke loudly to her mother about when she could go to Hogwarts and whether the Holyhead Harpies would win the British and Irish Quidditch League. Ginny and Harry chatted merrily about plans for Christmas and goings on in the Auror office. An owl screeched loudly from inside its cage, and a cat clawed its way up Amelie’s leg. She couldn’t help but feel a little bit uncomfortable. And intimidated. Her first Weasley Christmas was looking a little bit dangerous.

“And then he gave me detention and that was that!” James and Albus laughed loudly, the younger brother hunching over in fits of hysterical laughter. James’ breath came in great gasps. Amelie sat unimpressed in the middle, awkwardly twitching her leg as the cat’s claws pierced her skin.

“You alright, Amelie?” James asked, wiping tears of laughter from his eyes.

“Err...” she answered vaguely, attempting to kick the cat off her, but failing, instead kicking the trunk that was squashed between her and the seat in front. 

“The detention was a bitch!” Albus continued, completing ignoring Amelie’s on going struggle with the cat.

“Language!” Ginny shouted wearily from the front, before resuming her conversation with her husband.

“He made me serve drinks at one of Slughorn’s party! It was so boring!” He moaned,

“I’ve heard about those!” Lily squealed, leaning in from the other side of James, “the Slug Club!”

“Didn’t you get invited to one of those?” James asked Amelie.

“Well I...” Amelie started.

“Uncle Ron didn’t!” Lily shouted, twirling her plaited red hair around her finger.

“He must have been pissed!” Albus laughed, chucking the Quaffle towards James again.

“Language!” Ginny repeated, “Sorry Amelie, you saying something about the Slug Club.”

“I got invited to one last term.”

“That’s nice,” Ginny commented. “Do you remember our first Slug Club, Harry? On the train?”

Ginny’s husband nodded in reply, his eyes on the road.

Harry pushed the car horn violently as another car swerved into his path. The cat finally relinquished Amelie’s leg, leaping into the back of the car with fright. The Quaffle slipped through James’ outstretched fingers, bounced off the car window and hit Lily in the head.

“Ow! Albus! Why did you do that?” She started to cry, bawling her eyes out in the seat next to James.

“Oh shut up, Lily,” Albus said exasperatedly, “and stop crying, you are ten years old!”

“Sorry,” James whispered in Amelie’s in ear, “they are always like this.”

“Yeah, I got...” She began.

“Are we there yet?” Lily screamed, tears pouring down her cheeks.

“Almost, Lily,” Ginny said comfortingly from the front seat, “about two minutes now.’

“Oh Merlin. Why can’t we just get a portkey?” James asked his parents, when the trunk behind him spilt open, and several Honeydukes chocolates fell out.

“Because of all the trunks and stuff, James,” Harry said slowly, indicating and turning the car onto a long lane.

“Is it like this every year?” Amelie asked quietly.

“Yes,” Ginny answered, turning in her seat, “sometimes we are able to get a bigger car though.”

“Oh cool...” Amelie said weakly.

“So, Amelie; you excited for your first Weasley Christmas?” Harry asked, peering at her through the rear view window.

“I suppose so, I mean...”

“Mum! Albus is hitting me!” Lily screamed, glaring evilly at her brother.

“I am not!” Albus defended himself, “I’m on the other side of the car!”

“Oh right. Lily, don’t lie!” Ginny said.

“Yeah Lily!” Albus yelled triumphantly, sticking his tongue out at her.

“Albus! Be nice to your sister!”

“But Mum!”

“Albus Severus Potter! Be quiet!”

Amelie laughed. _What sort of name is Albus Severus Potter?_ The car went silent. Celestina Warbeck warbled dangerously and the screech of the windscreen wipers beat the snow away.

“Sorry, I - I - sneezed...funny,” Amelie slowly, looking at James, who was struggling to hold in laughter. Albus looked like he was about to cry. Lily sat staring at Amelie with her eyes red and blotchy. 

“I have...allergies,” she continued, nodding her head vigorously. A snort escaped James’ lips.

“We’re here,” Harry said, pulling into the drive.

_Oh, thank Merlin._

Amelie waited until Albus had got out of the car before sliding out herself. The snow melted onto her shoes as she awkwardly stretched her legs. When feeling returned to her feet, Amelie walked over to James, who was pulling his trunk out of the boot of the car.

“Is he really that sensitive about his name?” She asked him.

“Hell yeah,” James replied, shutting the boot of the car, “Ted and I used to bully him like crazy. Now can we go in? My feet are fucking freezing.”

“Language!” Amelie said jokingly, and turned towards the house.

The Burrow was tall, tottering and held together by lots and lots of magic. A large extension at the base now presumably held the kitchen with a large kitchen table - for the ever-growing Weasley family. Ancient Grandma Weasley was standing outside the front door, her arms stretched wide and a gigantic smile on her face as she welcome all her grandchildren and children and relatives-in-law. Amelie saw Teddy and Victoire in amongst the rabble, Victoire showing off an engagement ring. She also recognised Rose and Dominique, who were chatting amicably. The sheer mass of people, all part of the infamous Weasley clan, most of them related to the ‘Boy Who Lived’ and the Golden Trio, intimidated Amelie beyond belief and she stood, rooted to the spot.

“Your first time here?” A voice behind Amelie knocked her from her reverie. She turned.

A pretty, blonde haired girl stood behind her, her blue eyes framed by glasses. Amelie nodded.

“I was nervous too. They do tend to be a little frightening at first, and whatever they say about the ghoul in the attic, do not believe them,’ the girl laughed. Amelie merely nodded again.

“I’m Alice, by the way. Alice Willoughby, Fred’s girlfriend,” she said, holding out her hand for Amelie to shake.

“I’m Amelie, James’ friend,” she replied, shaking Alice’ hand.

“Friend?”

“Yes! Just friends,” Amelie reinforced.

“Sorry, sorry. You must get that all the time. Fred and me certainly did. Mind you, if you are just his ‘friend’,” she put air quotes around the word, “then they are going to give you a test run.”

“A test run?”

“I got it last year, Quidditch, cleverness, prank ability. You know the score.”

Amelie looked Alice up and down. With the glasses, neat hair and perfect outfit, she didn’t exactly look the part of Fred’s girlfriend. Fred was a world-class prankster. Maybe she was the mastermind.

“Right,” Amelie said.

“And if you’re not James’ girlfriend, you soon will be. The family can be very persuasive.”

“You make it sound like they are the Weasley mafia or something, and I don’t intend to be his girlfriend, Alice. Far too incestuous.”

Alice laughed, “Well look out for the test run, and don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

“Hey Ali!”

Fred Weasley came bounding towards the two girls, and slung an arm around his girlfriend, planting a kiss on her cheek before noticing Amelie.

“Oh Alice, don’t stand too close, according to Albus, Amelie has got allergies,” he said mockingly. Alice raised an eyebrow surprisingly. 

“Anyway, I’m going to see Roxy before I catch something,” he finished, kissing Alice again and running off to find his twin.

“You have allergies?”

“I laughed at Albus’ name, needed an excuse.”

Alice made a face, “oh, never a good start. I got a scar from doing that.”

Amelie laughed.

“I better catch up with Fred,” Alice said, “and it looks like James is looking for you. Good luck. I’m sure you’ll be fine.”

“Thank you.” 

Amelie turned around, looking for a familiar black head of hair amongst a crowd of redheads. 

“Amelie! There you are! Where have you been?”

James had appeared and a tiny blond boy had clutched onto his hand, staring up at Amelie with wide blue eyes.

“Hey James. Who’s this?”

“Louis, he’s Dominique’s brother. Anyway, do you want to come meet some other people?”

“Sure.”

Louis grabbed hold of Amelie’s hand, and the three of them made their way towards the group of people gathered at the door to the Burrow. Amelie was introduced to hundreds of James’ uncles, lots of aunties, one pair of grandparents and thousands of cousins. And all of them seemed to think that James had grown about four feet, ask what Amelie’s mother did for a living (nothing, as she lived off multiple divorce settlements - although Amelie just said that she worked in a shop in Diagon Alley) and they all thought that they were a couple before James quickly corrected them.

“My, haven’t you grown?”

“Thanks, Auntie Audrey.”

“Lunchtime!”

James pulled Amelie along by the arm, wrestling through the crowd of relatives to the kitchen table, grabbing two seats at the far end.

“Why this end?”

“Parents sit at the other end. Kids plan Christmas prank,” James said quickly, beckoning Fred over to the seat next to him. Slowly, the other Weasley children gathered around James, including Teddy and Victoire and baby Louis.

“Tradition?” Amelie asked.

“Of course. There are plenty of them,” he answered, looking around at his comrades, “anyway, I picked up a couple of ideas from Filch’s cabinet when he had me in there for detention and...”

“So, Amelie, do you play Quidditch?”

Teddy, who had leaned in to talk to Amelie, had interrupted James. He looked a bit surprised when Teddy had stopped him mid-flow, hastily unfolding carefully drawn plans of the Burrow and various dangerous looking contraptions.

_They are going to give you a test run,_ Amelie remembered Alice saying.

“Yeah,” Amelie replied hesitantly.

“What position?”

“Chaser.”

“Good,” Teddy said, nodding thoughtfully.

“She’s very good,” James said quickly, flicking through pieces of parchment, “but I think we should go with the...”

“And do you support the Wimbourne Wasps?” Fred asked next.

Amelie looked up from the sheet James had passed her, only to realise that the majority of James’ cousins were staring back at her, with the exception of Louis, who was smiling serenely and twirling Victoire’s hair between his podgy toddler fingers.

_Think, Amelie, think. James supports Chudley Cannons; he said his Uncle does as well. Ginny used to play for Holyhead Harpies._

Alice coughed delicately from beside her boyfriend, and Amelie made eye contact with her. With the utmost subtlety, Amelie saw her shake her head.

“No,” Amelie said, turning once again to Fred, “dreadful team.”

Fred nodded smugly, and Amelie relaxed. Alice gave her a thumbs up from behind Fred’s back.

“Well that’s lovely,” James said, passing out bits of parchment for everyone to look at, “but can we get on? I think that our best bet is that at...”

“And what do you think of Oliver Wood, for Puddlemere United?” Albus asked next, interrupting his brother who shot him death glares. 

“Oh Merlin! Why do you need to know?” James asked him angrily.

“Just asking. Some of us haven’t met Amelie before.”

“You live in the same tower! She’s on the team! What’s wrong with you?” James demanded.

“Just making polite conversation, that’s all,” Albus retorted.

“You’ve never done it before, Al. Why start now?”

“What are you doing down there?”

Elderly Arthur Weasley tottered down the length of the gigantic kitchen, peering over the shoulder of his grandson, squinting through his glasses to read the pieces of parchment scattered all over the table.

“Homework,” the Weasley children said at once. Amelie just stared blankly up at the old man.

“Good, good,” Arthur said tiredly, clutching his walking stick and walking back up to sit next to his wife.

“Right, you two, stop arguing and get planning. I’m pretty Angelina’s on to us,” Teddy said authoritatively, and Amelie glanced down the table to see Angelina eyeing them suspiciously.

The rest of the afternoon was good, if not a little hectic. Amelie sat next to James on a squashy sofa in the living room, watching several sets of his uncles and aunties get very drunk, Albus managing to throw the pudding at Dominique, who then succeeded in shoving a garden gnome down his trousers. Amelie winced and James laughed himself hoarse. Plans were drawn up for the annual Quidditch game, Fred sneakily sent prank plans through the crackers at the dinner table, which meant that Molly had to completely improvise a joke when her father had asked for hers (it was horrifically bad, but Percy laughed all the same). The presents around the tree had grown considerably as family friends dropped in and out, including the Scamanders and, to James’ horror, the Malfoys, whose son Scorpius was one of Albus’ good friends.

Amelie felt as if she had eaten her entire body weight in Mrs Weasley’s delicious cooking, so when she dragged her exhausted feet up the many, many crooked staircases in the Weasley house to a bedroom that she shared with Rose and Dominique, she fell straight asleep as her head hit the pillow.

 

Amelie awoke to the sound of girlish giggling, and opened her eyes to see Lucy and Lily, wearing matching pink tiaras and fairy wings, gazing down at her.

“Hello Amelie!” Their shrill voices pierced Amelie’s tired brain as she sat up. Dominique and Rose were already up. That’s strange.

“What time is it?” Amelie asked, rubbing sleep from her eyes.

“Six o’clock,” Lucy said proudly.

“Oh God,” Amelie said, flopping back onto her pillows, “what are you doing here anyway?”

“Fred sent us. There’s Quidditch training for the match in two days.”

“But it’s freezing,” Amelie complained.

“Wear a jumper,” Lucy said.

“You can borrow mine! It’s Babbitty Rabbitty on the front!” Lily said proudly, smoothing the front of her clothes.

“It might be a little bit small, Lily,” Amelie said kindly, “but thanks for the offer.”

She pulled herself out of bed, pulling on some jeans and putting a jumper on top of her pyjamas. After fishing her Firebolt from underneath her bed and stopping the two girls from trying on her clothes, she made her way downstairs, opened the door and Lily and Lucy showed her the way to the orchard.

“There you go,” Lucy said, when they had reached the outskirts.

“Aren’t you coming to watch?”

“Quidditch is a boys game,” Lily said superiorly, “playing fairies is a much better game.”

“Right,” Amelie said slowly, “well I’m going to go.” She turned to walk into the clearing, but was almost knocked to the ground when the two girls attacked her with a hug.

“Amelie!” 

“Can’t breathe!” Amelie gasped.

“We’ll let go if you say that we can be your bridesmaids!” They squealed.

“Bridesmaids?”

“You know,” Lucy said, pirouetting on the spot, “when you James get married.”

“Well, we’re not going...”

“You are! I saw it with my inner eye!” Lily said, pointing at the space between her eyes.

_Oh God, they are tiny Professor Trelawneys,_ Amelie thought. She stared at the two girls, one attempting to poke her eye out and murmuring about crystal balls, the other twirling so fast that the bright red plaits were a blur.

“Listen, Lily, divination is a load of shit, so...” Amelie said, bending down to the little girl’s level and prising her finger away from her forehead.

“What’s shit?” She replied innocently.

“Oh shit,” Amelie whispered angrily. Young children are not meant to know swear words. Or maybe Weasley children have some sort of dispensation.

“You said it again!”

“Well, it’s a...I’ve got to go, you know, play Quidditch. Maybe you should stop Lucy from spinning quite so much.”

“OK Amelie!” Lily said, hugging the older girl again and tugging on the arm of her cousin, “come on Lucy, spinning is shit!”

The two girls skipped off, Lucy swerving off the right a little, and Amelie turned back towards the entrance to the makeshift Quidditch pitch.

“Oh my god,” she murmured to herself. _I should be more prepared next time._

Walking into the silent clearing, she looked around. There was no one there. The sun was just rising on the other side of the trees and Amelie walked into the centre, her Firebolt dragging along the floor behind her. A twig snapped under her foot. She heard Lily and Lucy giggling from far away. They must have got it wrong. Amelie walked back towards the path that led to the Burrow, and was just reaching the trees at the edge of the clearing when something landed next to her foot with a horrible squelching sound. She peered down a realised an old, mouldy apple was just millimetres from her shoe. The tree above her was dead and so it could have not come from there. Turning around to face her attacker, Amelie gripped her broomstick tightly. 

“Hello?” She asked, but there was silence. There was a rustling in the top of the trees, and looking up, Amelie was momentarily blinded by the sun. Just in time, her eyes recovered their vision and another apple came soaring through the sky towards her. She quickly batted it out of the way with her broomstick before looking into the trees, trying to find who sent it. Running towards the trees, she saw a flash of red hair in amongst the branches, and she paused.

_The test run._

Amelie smiled. _Fred can definitely do better then that._

She walked towards a thick clump of bushes, poking it experimentally with end of her broom. When there was nothing there, she moved onto the next one, all the while peering into the darkness for another red headed person. After searching through the undergrowth for about a minute, Amelie heard a giggle from behind her, and she turned to see Louis walking in the centre of the clearing, his toddler legs short and stumpy.

“Am!” He squealed as she picked him up.

Hey Louis,” she said gently, “how did you get here?”

“Fwed!”

“And do you know where Fred is?”

“In tree!” Louis smiled, pumping his tiny fists into the air. Amelie heard the crunch behind her, and turned swiftly. Fred was mid-launch, a mouldy apple clasped in gloved hands and a smug look on his face.

“Mouldy apples, really Fred?” Amelie said as Louis played with her hair, “I would call that a certain lack of originality. How many others have you got out here?”

“A small army,” he replied cockily, his hand still poised as the reminder of the Weasley children ran out of various hiding places, apples held tightly in dragon-hide gloves.

“Fire!” Fred shouted, and Amelie ducked as the fruit soared through the air, lifting her arm up to shield Louis from harm. He squealed happily. The fruit landed all around them.

“What’s going on?” James had arrived, carrying his own broomstick, “Lily and Lucy said that there was a Quidditch practice.”

“You got up early?” Amelie asked bewilderingly, still crouching on the orchard floor.

“Yeah,” he said, “anyway, what are you doing?” He looked around at his cousins.

“Well, we...err...” Fred began.

“There was this thing...” Victoire tried.

“And there were apples...” Teddy said.

“You’re not doing the test run on Amelie, are you?” James asked, scrutinising his cousins.

“Of course not!” Molly shouted, “what made you say that?”

“Well you are all up at about six in the morning, and you used the mouldy apples trick on your boyfriend about two years ago,” James said gesturing at Molly.

“That was not the test run,” Molly answered haughtily, “he was just an arsehole.”

“Language!” Victoire said.

“I told you not to do it on Amelie!” James persisted.

“It’s tradition!” Dominique said, flipping her blonde hair over her shoulder, “do you think we would have let Teddy marry my sister without giving him the test run? He succeeded, but you know what happened to Molly’s ex. He failed and he turned out to be a cheating bastard!”

“Language!”

“Maybe he cheated on you because he realised that your family were a bunch of psychos!”

“We’re just testing Amelie’s strength of character,” Fred said.

“I’ve known her for ages! So have you! “ James argued.

“Calm down,” Amelie said, putting Louis down on the floor and walking over to her best friend, “it’s just a laugh. If you really thought that I’d back down to some flying mouldy apples, then you’ve got another thing coming.”

“See! She’s up for it!” Fred shouted.

“But now she’ll be prepared,” Rose said, “now she’ll know it’s coming.”

“I already knew you were up to something,” Amelie said exasperatedly, not letting them know that Alice had warned her, “your questioning at lunchtime wasn’t exactly subtle.”

Teddy’s hair went a bit red. He was embarrassed.

“Well there is no point in doing it if she knows. The fact she knew before you actually started shows her strength of character, doesn’t it?” James asked.

“Fine,” Fred said dejectedly, “we’ll stop it. You do realise you’ve broken four years of Weasley tradition?”

“Oh boo hoo,” James said sarcastically, turning around to pick up his broomstick and the Quaffle.

While his back was turned, Fred leaned towards Amelie.

“Don’t think this is over just because your boyfriend said it is,” he whispered.

“I wouldn’t dare,” Amelie answered sweetly, flashing him a brilliant smile.


	7. Part 2: Christmas, Fourth Year

After Fred had warned her that her test run was not finished, Amelie was always on the lookout for traps, pranks or poisons. James, believing his cousin had stopped pranking his best friend, focused on the annual Weasley Quidditch game and had been practicing non-stop since the day in the orchard. While he was busy harbouring his keeper skills, Amelie, Rose and Dominique had to look after the younger members of the family. Louis had grown quite attached to Amelie, following her wherever she went. Not to mention Lily and Lucy’s constant obsessing over her and James’ apparent wedding. They had snuck into Teddy and Victoire’s room and stolen her bridal magazines and had been picking out different dresses that they liked the look of.

Two days after the incident in the orchard, Dominique and Amelie were lounging in their room when Rose came in through the door, holding a package out to Amelie.

“Hey, this just came.”

Amelie eyed it suspiciously. It was too early for her mother to send her Christmas gifts, and she did not recognise the handwriting sprawled across the label.

“I don’t know who it’s from,” she said.

“Well open it anyway, there’s probably a note,” Dominique replied, leaning over to see what was inside the parcel.

Amelie licked it up to her ear and shook it gently. A slight rattling was heard, followed by a series of tiny explosions. It trembled ominously.

“I think it might be from Fred,” Amelie said, placing the package back down on her bed.

“I don’t why he’s so obsessed with this whole thing,” Rose said, looking at the brown parcel gingerly, “he’s never usually this committed to anything.”

“Quidditch,” Amelie said.

“Alice,” Dominique added, not looking up from her magazine.

“So what are you doing to do with it?” Rose asked Amelie.

“I don’t know,” she said.

“You could plant it outside his door,” Dom suggested.

“He’d recognise it though,” Rose said, eyeing the package carefully, “you’d have to re-wrap it or something.”

“Good plan.”

Rose pulled out a box of unwanted Christmas junk and rummaged in it. She finally found an old sheet of gold wrapping paper and thrust it into Amelie’s hands.

“That should be big enough,” she said.

Amelie cautiously began to rewrap the present, making sure that nothing exploded in her face. Rose watched nervously as she sealed it with Spellotape and tied a red ribbon around it. Dom continued to flick lazily through her magazine.

“Done. Do you think he’ll go for it?” Amelie asked.

“Of course,” Rose answered, squealing happily and clapping her hands together.

“Dom?” Amelie asked the blonde girl for confirmation.

“How well do you know my cousin, Amelie?” she questioned, her eyes not leaving the pages of Witch Weekly.

“Well, I have lived with him for about five years...” Amelie began, but Dom interrupted her by putting her magazine down and stepping over to the other two girls on the bed.

“Fred is never going to fall for that. He’s on his toes too. If someone suspiciously leaves a package on his doorstep, he’s not going to open it with thoroughly checking it first. Just like you did.”

“So what are you saying?” Amelie asked, intrigued.

“You’ve got to make it seem like it’s something worth opening.”

“And how are we going to do that?”

Amelie and Rose watched as Dom left the room, her silvery blonde hair flying behind her and she shut the door. The two girls shared a bemused look, but Dom was back in a minute, a small piece of black lace clutched in her hand.

“Dominique Weasley! What is that?” Rose gasped.

“A little something I picked up from my sister’s suitcase. Apparently Teddy got them for her on her birthday!”

The two cousins giggled immaturely, and Amelie rolled her eyes, pulling the pair of black, lacy knickers from Dominique’s hand. The label was still attached to it.

“So now what?” she asked once the girls had calmed down.

“You know how before we were discussing what Fred is committed to?” Dom began, leaning in as if she was telling a juicy secret, “and Alice came up. I just thought that we might use it to our advantage.”

“We’re going to put the parcel outside his door with Victoire’s knickers on top?” Amelie was growing tired of the two girls’ immaturity. I hate giggling, she thought. 

“No, Amelie,” Dom replied, her eyes alight, “I was thinking of something a little more subtle.”

She picked up the knickers and tore off the label. It was from a fancy French designer; posh, curvy pink writing on black cardboard. She attached it carefully to the red ribbon, tying it with a flourish. 

“Now, Fred will think that Alice is sending him some saucy underwear,” Dom finished, the two Weasley girls burst into hysterical fits of giggles, but Amelie was impressed by Dom’s idea. She was a true Weasley. This prank was worthy of the great Fred and George.   
Alright, that is a bit of an exaggeration, but it’s pretty good for a twelve year old.

She stood up, the package clutched in her hand and made her way outside. The boys’ corridor of the newly extended Burrow was on the other side of the house, and Amelie searched for a sign of Fred as she hurried through the kitchen and living room. He was not there.

When she reached his room, Amelie pressed her ear against the wood and listened hard. She heard music playing from a radio and the shuffling of feet. Fred was in there. Amelie placed the parcel gently in front of his door, and, after twisting the lingerie label to face upwards, she knocked twice on the door and sprinted silently down the corridor. She peeked around the corner, waiting for the moment when Fred opened the door.

The corridor was silent, apart from the muffled sound of the other inhabitants from the living room. Amelie heard the door click open, and Fred stepped out. He bent down, picking up the parcel. He looked up and down the corridor suspiciously, before shaking the package by his ear. He undid the ribbon. Fred saw the lingerie label and Amelie saw his jaw drop. He turned, his eyes still fixed on the present and walked head first into the wall next to his door. 

Amelie stifled a laugh as Fred managed to re-enter his room. She skipped happily down the corridor, waiting in front of his door. She could hear the wrapping paper being ripped off and a box being opened. There was a pause before there was loud yell and an enormous explosion from Fred’s room. Smoke spilled from under his door, and he ran out, his hair on end.

Amelie merely stood, leaning on the wall opposite, pretending to look at her nails.

“You!” Fred shouted, pointing a finger angrily at her.

“Who? Me?” Amelie said sweetly, “I don’t know what you are talking about.”

“You did this!”

“Did what?”

Amelie turned sharply on her heel and strode off towards the kitchen, leaving Fred standing in his doorway, a smouldering black label clutched in his hand.

 

 

James Sirius Potter was sitting in the living room, polishing his Firebolt. He was perfectly as ease, being warmed by the crackling of the fire and listening to the faint chatter of his relatives. Everything was fine until there was a booming explosion from the boys’ corridor, and Auntie Audrey screamed. All the adults disappeared out into the corridor. 

He rolled his eyes. It was probably just Louis playing with some of Uncle George’s new products. That was another tradition of the Weasley Christmas. Everyone would laugh when Louis emerged, stumbling around on his podgy toddler legs and his usually blonde hair black with dust and gunpowder. Fleur would worry, and swear at George in French, who would just laugh in her face.

James put down his broomstick and stood up, yawning and stretching. He saw Amelie enter the living room and he walked towards her.

“Hey Amelie,” he said. He eyed the happy look on her face, “what are you smiling about?”

“Oh nothing,” she replied, her smile growing. James leaned closer and sniffed.

“Is that gunpowder?” 

“It might be. Fred had a little bit of trouble with a Christmas present.”

So it wasn’t baby Louis. James groaned, “I thought you weren’t doing that test run thing anymore!”

“We’re not,” Amelie answered, “I was merely returning a present that he given to me.”

“Bullshit,” James said, “you’re pranking each other!”

“Alright, fine,” Amelie said, defeated, slumping down on the sofa. “I am winning though.”

“Then you might as well quit while you are ahead. You can help me with the Christmas prank that everyone seems to have given up on.”

“Fine, whatever you say,” Amelie replied grumpily, sitting next to him.

James retrieved the plans from his pocket and laid them out on the coffee table, leafing through them and handing her a plan of the Burrow.

“I was thinking of doing something during the Quidditch game, I know Alice thought that...” he began, but Amelie wasn’t listening. She was gazing into space, her eyes wide. She then began to count things off on her fingers.

“Amelie...”

She squealed happily and clapped her hands, bouncing up and down in her seat.

“James, I’m sorry, but I just had the best idea to get back at Fred.”

“But Amelie, I thought you said that you would finish that.”

She stood up, looking down at her best friend, her face flushed with excitement.

“Sorry, but it’s kind of turned into a war.”

“Make a strategic retreat, then,” James retorted, standing up. He was taller than her now, and loomed over her menacingly. Amelie looked up at him, placing her hands on her hips determinedly. 

“I’m not giving up now,” she said defiantly. “Why are you so bothered anyway?”

“My family are a bunch of freaks,” he began, “and I’m not exactly going to step back and watch you turn into one of them.”

“So why did you invite me here?” She replied angrily, her voice growing louder.

“I’m beginning to question that myself,” James said harshly, and Amelie stepped back, raising her hands as if in surrender.

“Fine. If that is what you think, I’ll just pop over to Barbados and join Mum on her honeymoon. You’d like that.”

“Amelie, I didn’t mean it like that...” James tried to turn it around.

“Well obviously you did. I’m going to bed. I’ll see you tomorrow,” she shoved a piece of parchment into James’ chest. She left the room hurriedly, as he looked down to find one of prank plans in his hands. James crumpled it up and threw it into the fire, grabbing his broomstick and going for one more pre-match practice.

He slammed the door to the living room behind him, almost running towards the front door. James did a slight double take when he saw Fred with his hair stuck on end, but continued, through the door and out into the night. He made his way towards the orchard, the snow falling all around him. James’ feet were cold soaking from the melted snow, but he kept walking. He just reached the edge of the orchard when he heard a scream from the house and James turned to look.

A light had flicked on in Amelie, Rose and Dominique’s room, and the scream was echoing through the open window. After contemplating why they would have their window open on such a cold night, James hopped onto his broomstick and flew up to their window and looked inside.

He could see Rose and Dom standing by the door to their en-suite bathroom. Rose was knocking frantically on the wood, and Dom was calling Amelie’s name. James landed lightly on the windowsill, and slid in through the open window, leaving his broomstick on the desk.

“What’s going on?” He asked, and Dom and Rose spun around. Rose screamed. Dom jaw dropped.

“How did you get in here?” She asked. “We didn’t hear anyone come in.”

“I flew,” James answered simply, gesturing to his broomstick. “Why was your window open?”

“I was writing a letter to someone,” Rose said quickly, “I was just letting Hyperion out.”

“You called your new owl Hyperion?” James questioned disgustedly.

“Yes,” Rose answered defiantly, but she blushed slightly, “What of it?”

“Isn’t that a bit...a bit Slytherin of you?”

“Anyway, James,” Dom cut in, “why did you decide to fly to our window and come in like the stalker you are?”

“I heard a scream and was wondering whether anything...”

James started, but couldn’t finish. The door to the en-suite bathroom opened and Amelie stood there, wrapped in a towel and her hair damp. But it wasn’t damp with water.

“Is that custard?” Dom asked curiously, taking a sample from Amelie’s hair on her finger and licking it. She nodded vigorously. Rose made a face.

“What are you doing here?” Amelie asked James. Her voice was harsh and angry.

“He heard a scream,” Rose said, “and came up here to play the knight in shining armour.”

“Well, you needn’t have bothered,” Amelie answered.

James had turned around and faced the wall of the room. He was embarrassed. He had just seen his best friend in nothing but a towel.

“Because you’ve got the whole custard shower thing under control, right?.”

He heard her huff angrily from behind him.

“It was Fred. I’m getting him back tomorrow at the Quidditch game. I’ve got something planned,” she said.

“I guess that’s my queue to leave,” James declared, picking up his broomstick and walking towards the door.

“You never meant to be here!” Amelie shouted as she watched him leave. The door shut with a click.

“What happened with you two?” Rose asked as Dom slumped on her bed.

“He doesn’t want to me to keep pranking Fred,” Amelie began, “apparently he’s concerned for my safety.”

Rose made an ‘aw’ sound and sat down next to Dom, and gave each other knowing glances.

“He’s such a gentleman,” Rose said.

“You’d be the most perfect couple,” Dom agreed.

“Stop it. He’s annoying,” Amelie said, “and for tomorrow, I need to talk to Alice Willoughby...”

 

 

The day was bright, with a blue sky and a slight breeze, which were perfect for playing Quidditch. The snow was blanket on the floor of the orchard as the two teams gathered at either end. Amelie was teamed with Ginny and Angelina as the other chasers, Albus as seeker, George and Roxanne as beaters and James as keeper. He shot her a steely glare as he grouped with the rest of the team, his mother Ginny describing intricate game plays. Amelie turned around to eye up the group of people at the other end of the pitch. She could spot Harry doing the exactly the same thing as his wife, and the rest of the team looked bored as he did wild hand gestures. She could see Fred among them, watching Harry intently.

“And then Angelina will swerve and we’ll score. You got that?”

Amelie nodded vaguely. The rest of the Weasley family had lined up on either side of the pitch. Molly Weasley sat in an old chair with a blanket, Louis bouncing happily on her knees. Arthur stood behind, his hand on her shoulder and his weight resting on his old walking stick. Lily and Lucy sat eagerly in front of her, and they shot Amelie bright smiles, waving enthusiastically. She waved half-heartedly back.

The family look like the magical Mafia, Amelie thought, like in that film when Mum was going through her Muggle phase. What was his name? Anthony? Timothy?

Amelie looked through the crowd for a sign of Alice, and she was easy to spot as one of the few blondes in a crowd of redheads. The sun glinted off her glasses as she positioned her self by the goalposts. Alice nodded in Amelie’s direction, her fingers and thumb forming an ‘OK’ sign. Amelie smiled. It is going to be fine.

Her team went in for a group huddle, and she bumped shoulders with James. He glowered at her, taking it as some sort of personal offence.

“We’re meant to be a team,” she whispered in his ear, “just do it for this. You can go back to hating me after this is over.”

“I look forward to it.”

“Merry Christmas to you too.”

The team broke with a cry of “Weasley!” and Amelie leapt on her broom, swooping up to the centre of the pitch with Ginny and Angelina. She watched as Teddy came up opposite her, his blue jumper showing which team he was on. She looked either side, giving her fellow chasers the subtlest of nods, before Charlie released the Quaffle and the other balls. She swerved in to catch it, holding it tightly under her arm as she dodged Teddy and Rose. She ducked as a bludger flew dangerously close to her head, and she looked around to see Molly grinning at her viciously.

Never thought the spawn of Percy Weasley could have it in them. 

She weaved through the other players, Ginny and Angelina sandwiched at her side and in a second, she was opposite Fred. He was looking at her, positioned perfectly in front of the centre post and his lips stretched in a smirk. She pulled her arm back to throw the Quaffle, as if aiming into the left hoop. Fred moved to cover it, but quick as a flash Angelina stole the ball from Amelie’s hands and scored in the right hand hoop. Unfortunately Dominique was already down there to catch the red ball, and she zoomed elegantly towards the other end of the pitch and towards James.

Amelie dodged another bludger and hurtled towards the blonde girl, almost knocking her off her broom in her attempt to get the Quaffle. Dominique had a frail, delicate frame, but she was stronger than she looked and was very fast, easily letting Amelie fall behind. She ducked a bludger from Roxanne and tried to score in James’ left hoop. It was a close call, but he managed to save it, the ball just at the tips of his fingers.

“What the hell is going on?” Amelie shouted to him. “That was a lucky escape.” He scowled, and chucked the ball back to her.

James watched Amelie bolt back to the other end of the pitch, and score another easy goal. Her dark hair was flying behind her and he admired it for a minute before shaking his head sadly. He circled his goalposts feeling the air on his face as he watched Albus fly slowly above the rest of the game, his green eyes darting to and fro to find the snitch.

It must be cheating when you wear glasses.

His dad was doing the same, but lower down. It was like the sky was going back in time the higher you got, the father and son looked that similar. James watched as Ginny, Amelie and Angelina swerved, ducked, and dodged through the many players on the pitch, scoring goal after goal. Fred just looked bewildered and confused, gazing at his hands in shock.

James was performing lazy loop the loops, but then he heard a scream and thump from the other end, and watched as Roxanne was escorted off the pitch, blood streaming down her nose. George and Angelina flew straight towards Molly, who looked scared as the two adults came bearing down on her.

We may be family, but we sure do take Quidditch seriously and that includes mutilating cousins’ faces.

Charlie blew his whistle sharply, signalling for a penalty. Amelie flew up to take it, perching on her broom in front of Fred. She tossed the ball gently in her hands, as if judging its weight. James saw her as she calculated the angles and how fast Fred’s reactions were. Nobody, not even James, noticed her subtle nod towards Alice, who was far below, standing by the goalposts.

“Come on Fred!” Harry shouted, “We are all counting on you!”

The score was 150 to Ginny’s team and 0 to Harry’s team. Ginny, Angelina and Amelie were incredible chasers, able to score enough goals to win even if the other team caught the snitch.

The tension was mounting, and the only sound that could be heard was the soft thump of leather against skin as Amelie threw the Quaffle up and down. Fred controlled his broom, settling it in front of the centre hoop. His weight was balanced perfectly in the middle of the broomstick, meaning he was able to turn with utmost stability and speed.

It was so quiet you could hear heartbeats. James looked up to see his father and brother circling like vultures above the game, looking for that tiny hint of gold.

Amelie lifted her arm, aiming just over Fred’s shoulder and into the centre hoop. He prepared himself, shifting his hands further up the broom shaft. Amelie’s gripped tightened on the ball. She was about to throw. The crowd below took a collective breath as the Quaffle soared towards Fred. It looked like he was about to catch the ball, his hands were outstretched, and his eyes were focused on it.

“Fred! I love you!”

“What?”

His gaze was diverted, away from the Quaffle and onto Alice, who was standing at the goalposts, grinning and blushing profusely. His hands dropped. The ball glided over his shoulder and neatly through the centre hoop. Charlie blew his whistle, and Amelie flew back to the centre and the game began again.

 

 

The kitchen was noisy and bustling as the entire Weasley family and their assorted guests sat down at the large kitchen table to enjoy a beautifully prepared Christmas lunch. Amelie, apart from the grand feasts at Hogwarts, had never seen so much food. Mrs. Weasley had excelled herself. There were vast turkeys, served with hundreds of potatoes and other vegetables. Gallons of gravy were also being passed around. Amelie stocked her plate up, but still went back for seconds and even thirds.

She had been positioned next to James. This was not her personal choice and the entire meal, although the food was good, was spent making awkward conversation with James. Fred and Alice, who were sitting opposite, were doing the things that new lovebirds do. They were barely touching their food, instead preferring to look deeply into each other’s eyes. If Amelie wasn’t eating such good food, she would have been tempted to throw up. Maybe her plan wasn’t such a good idea after all.

James wolfed down his food quickly, staring at his lovesick cousin. Through his loud chewing, Amelie heard him muttering angrily. She put her knife and fork down, and turned to him.

“Why aren’t you happy for them?” 

“I didn’t say I wasn’t,” he replied.

“So the evil glares and angry muttering are your version of happiness? I thought I knew you,” Amelie retorted.

“Likewise, Amelie, likewise.”

He began eating again, and Amelie just sat, staring incredulously at him.

“You know, I was expecting something much worse,” he finally said, turning to face her.

“She wanted to say the three magical words to her boyfriend, and I wanted to publicly humiliate your cousin by missing the crucial goal. It worked for me. I was going to get her to say that she was pregnant, but I know how much you lot appreciate family values,” Amelie explained.

“They haven’t had sex yet, Amelie,” James said, blushing slightly and lowering his voice, “that is always George’s golden rule: make sure you do your research before pranking.”

“I’ll remember that for the future,” Amelie replied, and they fell into silence again. She looked up and down the table, taking into account the smiling faces and laughter of the Weasley family. She imagined what was happening at the seafront villa in Barbados with her mother and her new man (Alexander? Rupert?), and she was glad she was here, instead watching her own mother fawn over some man far too young for her or far too rich.

She looked at James again, watching his jaw chew up and down as he ate, and watched as his black hair fell into his eyes.

“I’m sorry,” she said quietly. James put down his knife and fork and turned to her.

“I know,” he said simply, “I just wanted you know that you didn’t have to prove yourself to my family.”

“I was intimidated. Your dad saved the world.”

“And yet he still doesn’t give me enough pocket money.”

Amelie smiled.

“Merry Christmas, Amelie.”

“Merry Christmas to you too, Jimmy.”

The table went silent. The clatter of cutlery on plates stopped, and the rest of the Weasley family stared at Amelie, similar looks of disbelief on their faces. Fred and Alice stopped kissing from across the table, Alice smiling subtly and Fred’s jaw was hanging wide open.

“You get to call him Jimmy?” Harry Potter asked Amelie, his voice scandalized.

She nodded vaguely, her eyes flicking between Harry and James, who shrugged. Fred made several gawking sounds, but then stood up and shook her hand. Apparently, her ability to prank, her Quidditch talent and cleverness were all forgotten. She was able to call James ‘Jimmy’ without getting hexed or punched and that, apparently, was good enough. She sighed. It was all for nothing.

“Welcome to the family.”


	8. Room of Requirement, Seventh Year

I was kissing her. It always took me a couple of minutes to realise what was actually happening. I was always so surprised that she wanted to kiss me back. But after that brief moment of confusion, the rest of it was like drinking firewhisky. It was perfect and spine tingling and knee-melting and everything. It was like the fairy-tale kisses described in all those children’s books that Mum forced me to read to Lily when she was young. I’d have to make sure that none of the Quidditch team heard about that, though. Or Amelie, for that matter. Handsome boyfriends don't read fairy stories.

I was amazed at how different Amelie was now that we were together. Before, when we had just been best friends, she was confident and clever and beautiful. However, the side that came out now, whenever we were kissing or flirting, was always much more daring.

My hands were on her lower back, clutching her closer to me, and my lips were pressed against hers. I never wanted to let her go. Merlin, I sound like such a loser these days, totally consumed by her. The way she moves, the way she looks, and the way she is. It was almost creepy.

It was almost Slytherin. 

Maybe I should get out more.

Amelie leant away from me, her hands on my shoulders and she smiled down at me. She twirled a piece of my hair in her fingers.

“Hey,” she said quietly.

I had my back to the headboard of my four-poster, and Amelie was lying in my lap. I had been doing (more like attempting) to finish my History of Magic essay - then Amelie offered to help me and things had sort of gone off from there.

“Ouch, I think I’m sitting on your quill...” she said, and pulled the eagle feather quill out from underneath her. I laughed, and she moved her head closer to mine again. Her nose bumped against mine and her lips were stretched in an amazing smile.

“I thought you were meant to be helping me with my homework,” I asked her, but she silenced me with a kiss. Desire began to creep up within me, raw and vehement, as my hands moved up her sides and one went to her hair as the other snaked around her frame, still pulling her closer. There was no hesitation in her response. Her tongue slipped past her lips to tortuously caress my lower lip and glide into my mouth freely and begin a battle for dominance with my tongue. 

Her hands found the hem of my t-shirt, and began to tug at it. I had to break the kiss for a second, and she pulled it off me and flung it to the end of the bed. I pressed my lips to her neck, and she flung her head back. I gently undid the buttons of her shirt one by one. Apparently, I was moving too slowly, and Amelie pushed my clumsy hands out of the way and peeled the shirt over her head and then attacked my lips with hers.

“James! James, are you in here?”

I swear little brothers are the bane of my existence. I really don’t know what my parents were thinking when they went and conceived ‘Albus Severus’ (I really don’t know what my parents were thinking when they went and called him that). I was a perfectly acceptable son, so they might as well have quit when they were ahead.

I opened my eyes, my lips still glued to Amelie. She leaned away from me, and rested her forehead against mine.

“Well at least you got my top off,” she said coyly.

I swear I almost cried. 

“James...you need to come downstairs! Lily is having a massive argument with one of her friends and Slughorn is worried that she can Bat-Bogey hex as well as Mum...Woah there!”

Albus had pulled open the curtains of the bed, seen Amelie half-naked and then turned away sharply, covering his eyes with his hand like the immature 15-year old he was. At least he wasn't ogling her. Then I would have really gone to town with a sneaky Jelly-legs through the curtains.

“Hi Albus,” Amelie said, rolling off me and clutching her shirt to her chest.

“Hi Amelie,” he answered weakly, his voice croaking, “How are you?”

“I’m alright, thank you.”

“Enough with the formalities, Al. What do you want?” I asked.

“Lily. Great Hall. Big fight. Possibility of Bat-Bogey hexes,” he repeated quickly, his hand still clamped to his face.

I groaned and flopped back against the pillows, my fingers running through my hair. Amelie smiled sympathetically down at me.

“Can’t you deal with it yourself, Al?” I said, entranced by the little dimples in her cheeks.

“You know you’re her favourite, James,” he replied. He’s right, I am.

“I’ll go,” Amelie said quietly, sliding her arms through her shirt, “you go be a good big brother.”

I sat up, and held onto her arm to stop her from leaving.

“I’d rather be a better boyfriend,” I said and she gave me a quick, chaste kiss.

“Perhaps later,” she said and she shot me that flirtacious smile again and in that moment I wanted to throttle my stupid brother with his stupid school tie.

I watched as she left the dormitory, and I slipped my t-shirt back on. Amelie and I had officially been an item for about a month. When we had returned from Hogsmeade, everything had been perfect: nobody at school had questioned us and my parents had not been surprised when I had written to them about it. 

“Can I look now?” Albus asked.

“Yeah, you annoying little shit.”

“Sorry,” he replied sarcastically, finally turning around to look at me, “I thought that your little sister came before your sex life.”

“Very funny, Al,” I said sarcastically, swinging my legs over the side of my and putting my trainers on, “so Lily is in the Great Hall, right?”

“Yeah, screaming the whole castle down.”

“I’m excited,” I muttered as I walked down the staircase towards to the common room, Albus close on my heels. As we crossed the crowded room, I spotted Amelie talking to another seventh year girl. She saw me pass and gave me a shy smile, which I returned. Albus noticed.

“So, have you and Amelie done it?”

“What?”

“You know, sealed the deal, tapped that ass. Had relations of a sexual nature.”

I was too shocked to answer. My younger brother was asking whether I have ‘had relations of a sexual nature’ with my girlfriend. Part of me wanted to knock his lights out and the other part wanted to Avada Kedavra myself with embarrassment.

“How many times do I have to remind you that we are not related?”

“Once more, James. So have you done it?”

“No,” I answered quietly as we scrambled through the portrait hole, “if you hadn’t have walked in on us, that answer might have been different.”

“At 4 o’clock in the afternoon? On a Sunday? I don’t want to hear about it!” Albus said, sticking his fingers in his ears and singing a Weird Sisters’ song loudly and out of tune.

“You brought it up!” I retaliated. We descended three flights of stairs. The rain was slashing against the walls of the castle.

“You felt the need to disclose inappropriate information!” Albus said.

“You should have been in Ravenclaw.” We snuck down a secret corridor, both of us jumping simultaneously to avoid a trick step. I pushed aside a tapestry, and we both stepped out into the entrance hall. The stained-glass windows were decorated with raindrops. Albus was still mumbling retorts at me - comebacks as witty as ‘you’re adopted’ and ‘your face’ and ‘you’re secretly the spawn of Voldemort’, but he stopped as we both heard Lily yelling from the Great Hall. 

“What the hell has happened to her?” I asked Albus as we began running towards the sound of her voice.

“I don’t know. Slughorn met me on the way down and I went straight to you. He only gave me vague details. He was pretty out of breath.”

“Why?”

“He had just climbed the marble stairs...oh my sweet Merlin! Lily!”

We had entered the Great Hall, and stopped stock still in the doorway, looking at the scene before us. Lily was standing in the centre of the room, her fiery red hair ablaze and her face contorted with anger. Her wand was stuck out in front of her. A blond girl, about Lily’s age, was levitating upside down in mid air, her face slowly turning purple.

“That should teach you to stop copying my homework behind my back!”

Neither Albus nor I dared move. Lily seemed to be channelling not only our own mother, but also Aunt Hermione and Grandma Molly at the same time. She was insane, and I was fully prepared to turn around and flee.

Albus, being the slightly more rational one, stepped cautiously towards our younger sister.

“Lily,” he said calmly, as if talking to a four-year old, “I think it is time to put Beatrice down now.”

She turned around and stared at him, her eye twitching manically. Albus recoiled slightly, signalling to me for back up. I advanced carefully, desperately aware that I was unarmed.

“Lily. I think you are going a bit mental,” I said simply. Albus turned to me and mouthed ‘what the hell’ and Lily looked prepared to bite my face off. I kept going.

“No, really. You’ve got the twitch and everything.” She was sidetracked, and out the corner of my eye, I saw Beatrice the blond girl fall to the floor as Lily’s eye contact was broken. If I distracted her, then she wouldn’t hurt anyone else.

“James...” Albus said warningly.

“Lily, when was the last time you had a full night’s sleep?” I asked her, very aware of all the other people in the hall listening into our conversation.

“Well, I’ve had homework all this week, and then Charms Club and Gobstones Club and Duelling Club and then I helped out Aunt Hermione with her SPEW fundraising, so...I’d say about four nights ago.” Her voice was high-pitched and she spoke very fast.

“I think you better go lie down, Lils,” Albus said, and put a comforting arm around her shoulder and led her away to the hospital wing.

Why was everyone in my family so fucking mental?

I was about to follow my brother and sister out of the hall, when I saw two beaters from the Slytherin Quidditch team sniggering in the corner of the room. I stiffened, and walked over to them.

“Is there something wrong?” I asked them angrily.

“Oh hell no,” one of them answered. He was beefy and had no neck, “we were just saying how hot your sister is.”

I punched him. On the jaw. Heard a crack that could have possibly been my knuckles. The beefy boy bent over, clutching his face, and his friend just stood there with his mouth hanging open.

Sufficiently pleased with that day’s work, (one less psycho red-head roaming the corridors and one less Slytherin playing on Saturday) I proceeded out of the hall and towards the tapestry that hid the entrance to a secret passageway. I was just about to step inside when a person with long, dark hair attacked me.

“Amelie, what the...”

She pushed me against a wall; her eyes were bright and twinkling and her cheeks were slightly flushed. She kissed me quickly and impatiently, and I was so shocked that she did that I failed to respond and my arms remained hanging awkwardly by my side.

“Well hello to you too,” I said, and laughed inwardly at my own wittiness. Amelie smiled.

“Is it true that you punched Joseph Stone out?” She asked. Her voice was oddly breathless. I stuck my chest out proudly.

“Well yeah.” I tried to pass it off as if it was a small thing, but really I could still feel my hand throbbing painfully.

“That’s so hot,” she whispered, and she kissed me again and this time I was prepared. My arms snaked around her waist, pulling her closer to me yet again. Her lips and tongue moved simultaneously with mine as she pushed me further against the stone, cold wall. When we both broke apart for lack of oxygen, I was horribly aware that we were in the middle of a busy corridor, with students passing to and fro and a particularly annoying group of first-year girls giggling and pointing in our direction.

“Perhaps we should find somewhere more private?” I asked, and Amelie nodded, grabbing me by the hand and pulling me into a nearby broom closet.

As soon as the door slammed shut, and there was silence, I held Amelie’s hand and pulled her towards me. I gently steered her towards the wall of the tiny room. My lips embraced hers effortlessly. My body pressed against hers and a feverish feeling began to spread across every inch of my body. I felt a rapid blush spread across my chest and arms and my body tingled with warmth. 

My lips caressed hers gently as I cupped her face with my hands. My insides, which seemed to have disappeared when we shared the kiss in the corridor, had definitely reappeared because they were twisting in a bizarrely painful yet delightful way.

Amelie’s hands trailed down from my hair and over my shoulders. She pushed me gently off her.

“What’s wrong?” 

“I think something is sticking in my back,” she said, and moved and broom out from behind her. She smiled, and weaved her arms around my neck and leant forward to kiss me again, and I stepped back, my foot getting caught in a bucket and I tripped and fell to the floor. A shot of pain flashed through my crippled hand.

“Oh, sorry!” Amelie said, her voice concerned, “are you alright?” She attempted to come towards me, but stumbled on a crate of Mrs. Scower’s All Purpose Magical Mess Remover. She fell on top of me and a whole heap of dust billowed up around us. Amelie snorted, and began laughing hysterically. I joined her.

“Oh, sorry. I didn’t realise this one was taken.”

The door had opened, the sunlight streaming in. I could see the dust hover in the air as Amelie squinted against the light.

“Oh, hello Watson,” she said, rather scathingly. She picked herself off me and dusted herself down.

“Harris.”

Georgia Watson was standing in the doorway. A boy I vaguely recognised from Ravenclaw was standing awkwardly behind her, his hand loosely wrapped in hers.

“I can’t believe that you chose this cupboard to hook up in, Potter,” Watson continued with stupid, girlish giggle, and I began to worry about where this was going, “do you remember last year? After the Hufflepuff game?”

I cringed mentally. In our sixth year, after a Gryffindor versus Hufflepuff game, there had been a party in the Room of Requirement. I had, for want of a better word, got completely smashed. Amelie was not around to help me out, and so I fallen drunkenly into the arms of one Georgia Watson.

I heard Amelie inhale quickly beside me, and I grimaced.

“Shut up Watson,” I retorted through gritted teeth.

“So you’re not using this one anymore, then?” Watson asked, “Because Michael and I have a lot of studying to do.”

I was pretty sure the only studying they were doing was of each other.

Amelie grabbed my hand forcefully and pulled me out of the broom closet. Watson and the boy called Michael went in, and the door shut with a snap. Amelie dropped my hand and stalked off towards the staircase. I hurried after her.

“Amelie, wait...”

She stopped, but didn’t turn around.

“I’m sorry about Watson. She’s a slag and I was drunk.”

She turned and actually laughed in my face. “You weren’t drunk the other times.”

“You knew about that?”

“Oh please,” Amelie said, and I was surprised that she could talk about it so freely without getting jealous or upset, “in sixth year you wanted to compare sex positions.”

“That was only because I wanted to know whether you had got down and dirty with anyone.”

“Down and dirty? Slughorn called, he wants his lingo back,” she laughed again. I recoiled as my vocabulary got a metaphorical beating.

“Do you care?” I said.

“I don’t care about that, James,” Amelie said, and walked over towards me.

“Then what is it?”

She pulled me closer to her and we watched as two fourth-years went past.

“Do you think that we should, you know, talk about it?” Her voice was hushed, and I was confused.

“Why the hell would you want to talk about Georgia Watson?” 

She hit me around the head, and I rubbed the sore spot, pouting a little. She smiled.

“You know, do you think we should talk...talk about having...sex?”

I stared at her. I was surprised that I didn’t feel awkward.

“I have been noticing that our little kissing sessions have been getting rather heated lately, if that’s what you mean,” I said.

She laughed again, and kissed me briefly on the cheek.

“I’ll see you at dinner, then?” She said, moving away from me down the corridor.

“I thought you wanted to talk about sex?” I shouted after her, and the smallest first-year I have ever seen squealed and leapt about five feet in the air. I glared at him and he froze, his petrified eyes fixed on my face. I cleared my throat importantly.

“One day,” I began, “when a man and woman love each other very much...”

He scurried off, and I chuckled to myself. I knew it was absolutely and wonderfully vital and Binns would love me forever if I finally tried to finish my History of Magic essay, but I definitely had more important things to do.

 

 

“Careful! I almost walked into the wall!”

“Sorry!”

I was leading Amelie, who had her eyes closed, towards the Room of Requirement. I paced up and down outside the wall three times, thinking the same thought each time. A large oak door appeared and I opened it, gently pushing Amelie inside.

“Open your eyes.”

And she did. She saw the Room of Requirement looking like it had never done before, with a grand four-poster bed in the centre. There were candles everywhere, and an old radio was playing romantic music. I put my hands on my hips, satisfied with my own work, only to look at Amelie and see that her face had fallen.

“What do you think?” I asked cautiously. She nodded, a large, fake smile playing on her lips.

“I like it,” she said, a little too enthusiastically. 

“Amelie...”

“It’s a little bit pretentious, don’t you think?” Her voice was quiet, and I could tell that she didn’t want to upset me. I took her hand in mine.

“I wanted it to be perfect.”

She pulled me over to a large sofa, her hands finding mine and playing unconsciously with my fingers.

“Listen James. I love you. I'm sure there are plenty of girls in this castle that want to have sex with you in a room full of roses and candles and champagne and velvet and...” she paused for a second, looking around, “are those oysters? But James, I'm not one of them. I don't care what Georgia Watson says. I just need you. That's all I want.”

She grabbed the front of my shirt and pulled me closer to her, so that our noses touched.

“I love you,” she whispered.

“I love you too.”

We kissed softly, and she leant away and stood up. She held out her hand for me, and I took it. We left the Room of Requirement and disappeared towards my dormitory. Thankfully, it was empty, my classmates were at Quidditch or in the common room. Amelie pulled me into the room, and I shut the door with my foot. The rain was still hammering at the windows as we shifted to my four-poster bed.

She grinned down at me and then leaned in, pressing her lips gently to mine. Somehow, I rolled us over so that I was on the top and I felt her tug my t-shirt up over my head. Her shirt came off sometime soon after and before I knew it, my fingers were at the back of her bra. I paused for a second, waiting confirmation from Amelie. Her hand moved to my cheek and she kissed me affectionately, her eyes fluttering closed. 

This was definitely different. During my clumsy experiences with Georgia Watson, or various stuck-up Ravenclaws, I had never fully appreciated how different it was to be with someone you love, someone you cared about. Someone you could possibly spend the rest of your life with.

I felt slightly lightheaded and my stomach was doing cartwheels in my abdomen. My lips moved over hers, only stopping when I paused for air or to kiss her neck or collarbone. My hand moved unconsciously to the button of her jeans and I heard her breath hitch in her throat. I looked down at her, worried that she didn’t want this. She smiled at me, and I felt my insides disappear. 

This was it.


	9. Part 1: A Wedding, Seventh Year

I watched the rain patter on the train windows, my head leaning on James’ shoulder and a book lying unnoticed on my lap. Returning from Hogwarts for the Easter holidays was meant to be something that I enjoyed; the prospect of no homework, the newly emerged sun and ice cream sundaes at Fortescue’s was fresh on my mind. I was also looking forward to spending a week with the Potters at Godric’s Hollow and the first official holiday with James as my boyfriend. Everything changed, though, when the letter came.

I never knew what it was about weddings about weddings that annoyed me. At first, I thought it might have been the thousands of little children running around, or the constant existence of the very drunk uncle whom no one seems to talk to. By the time I had reached my eleventh wedding, I had decided that it was the dresses: the stiff, uncomfortable, salmon pink dresses that annoyed me. Then it was the canapes, the dancing, the intolerable speeches, the endless bouquets of hideous flowers and the amount of giggling that seemed to take place.

I always hated giggling.

I can see now that I was stupid. It wasn’t all the silly materialistic things that bothered me about weddings. It wasn’t the fact that I had to sit alone at the heavily decorated table, watching people I didn’t know swerve dangerously around the dance floor.

I had decided, long ago, that it was my mother.

Out of all the thirty-one weddings I had been to, only two had been for someone else. One of them was my aunt Shirley when I was four, a woman I vaguely remember from when my father was around. The other, a far more enjoyable affair, was Victoire’s marriage to Teddy.

The other twenty-nine, however, were my mother’s. At home, stuffed in a enormous box under my bed, were twenty-nine bridesmaid’s dresses, each a different colour and style: a long, silver gown for my mother’s marriage to some potion inventor, a ghastly maroon frock with ruffles for when she decided to spend the rest of her life with the Bulgarian Quidditch captain.

That marriage lasted six months. I had twelve stepbrothers and sisters. I wouldn’t be able to tell you all their names.

Ironically, my father was the only one she didn’t get married to. I used to keep a picture of them on my wall at home until he left. I remember it clearly, even though it was about eleven years ago. It was raining then as well. 

The windowsill was too tall for me to look over, so I had to stand on my tiptoes. Mum stood in the front garden and her brown, natural, healthy hair was damp from the rain. I was not sure whether she was crying. My father was carrying a suitcase. I could see it, lying in the damp grass while he argued with my mother. I wish I could tell you what he looked like, but ever since I got rid of that photo, and ever since he got rid of us, he became faceless. Sometimes Mum said I looked just like him, but I never wanted to.

My father disapparated but, as a six-year old girl, I was far more interested in the raindrops that trickled down the window.

I admired them again, this time on the window of the Hogwarts Express and the painful memory caused me to snuggle further into James’ warmth. My book slipped from my lap, the letter peeking out from between the pages. I stared at it for a while, the yellowing parchment almost acting as a warning sign.

 

_You are cordially invited to celebrate the wedding of_

_Florence Olivia Harris_

_and_

_Thomas Cade Hudson-Radcliff III_

_On Wednesday 25th March, at four o’clock_

_At Huntingdon House, Suffolk_

 

Mum had even decided to add in two pictures of bridesmaid dresses. One was green and delicate and the other was blue and skin-tight. When I showed James, he had helpfully chosen the blue dress, with a cheeky glint in his eye. Picking the green one just to spite him, I replied the letter saying that James would be there and I also gave her my congratulations. 

I wouldn’t be able to tell you what Thomas Cade Hudson-Radcliff III looked like. 

“You alright, love?” James asked me.

“Yeah, I’m fine.”

“Are you sure? It’s just that you’ve been looking out of that window for almost two hours. I mean the food trolley had already been and gone!”

I laughed at him, but his face was entirely serious.

“Is something wrong?” He asked.

“No.”

“It’s the wedding, isn’t it?”

“No,” I replied sharply, but James smirked.

“You know your nose does a little twitchy thing when you lie. It’s quite endearing really,” he said.

“I hate you,” I said mockingly.

“No, you don’t,” he placed his arm around me again, planting a soft kiss on my cheek, “otherwise you wouldn’t let me accompany you to this wonderful event that you definitely aren’t worried about.”

He pressed his lips to the corner of my mouth, and my eyes fluttered closed. Sometimes it annoyed me how much he affected me. Damn Potter smirk.

“Amelie...” he whispered, kissing my lips gently. All too soon, he pulled away and I pouted childishly.

“I hate you,” I repeated.

“You’ve really got to stop saying that,” he answered, smiling broadly. I loved his smile.

“I really do hate you though,” I said sarcastically, ruffling his hair.

“Almost as much as you hate weddings?”

I groaned and collapsed back onto the green leather of the compartment seat. 

“Please don’t remind me. You do realise what you are getting into by coming to one of these things, don’t you James?” I asked him.

“Hit me,” he said.

“Toothless grandmas wanting to dance with you?” I began, ticking my points off on my fingers.

“Auntie Muriel,” he retorted quickly, with a shudder.

“Horrendous speeches?”

“Have you ever heard Uncle Percy speak?”

“Lots of drunk people?”

“Drunken giants? Hagrid sure does like his mead.”

“Axe murderers?” I added as a desperate last resort.

“Again, Amelie, the nose-twitching gives it away.”

“I supposed you have had your full of awkward family get-togethers.”

“Is that a slander against my family?” James replied cheekily.

“No,” I said, smiling, “I’m a big fan of your family.”

“I’m a big fan of you,” he said, smirking again and I felt my insides twist pleasantly. 

“A little cheesy, but I’ll let it pass.” I leant towards him and brushed my lips against his. I could happily spend my whole life in this compartment with him. The invitation lay forgotten at my feet as I eagerly let James steal all of my oxygen.

 

 

“Oh! Amy! My darling!”

I shuddered. I could recognise that voice anywhere. I looked longingly back at James, who gave me a small smile and pushed me forward gently. 

“Hi Mum.”

Florence Harris kissed me on each cheek, her skinny hands clutching at my arms. Her bright blonde hair was rolled in curlers, and she was dressed in a silk robe. She gripped my cheek and shook it, smiling. I was seventeen for crying out loud.

“It’s good to have you back,” she said, her voice verging on the edge of (fake) tears and she pulled me into her arms once again.

“Yeah. It’s great,” I said forcefully, tapping her half-heartedly on the back. James coughed from behind me.

“Oh yeah, introductions” I said, eagerly escaping the arms of my hair-dye-ridden mother, “James, this is my mum. Mum, this is my boyfriend James.”

“Oh yes, James Potter. I’ve heard a lot about you,” she said, smiling coyly, “I must say you are a lot more handsome then I imagined.”

James laughed nervously and his hand flew to his hair. Shit. He always did that when he was nervous.

“It’s very nice to meet you, Miss Harris.”

“Oh, please call me Flo,” she pleaded, and James shot me a frightened glance. I stifled a laugh. Mum gripped his arm and began pulling him into the house.

“Although by tomorrow I’m going to be Florence Hudson-Radcliff. Isn’t that wonderful, James?” She looked back at me over her shoulder. “Isn’t Tommy a wonderful man, Amy?”

“Couldn’t say, Mum,” I said exasperatedly, trying not to laugh at James’ panic-stricken face. I suppose Mum could be quite a handful sometimes.

“I’ve never met him,” I continued.

“Oh, well, you’ll meet him tomorrow, darling,” she said matter-of-factly, finally letting go of James. He scurried over to me, placing an arm securely round my shoulder. I scoffed at my mother.

“So I’m going to meet my new step-father tomorrow. At your wedding?”

“I hope that is okay, pumpkin,” she said as she began painting her nails, “I would have arranged a meeting but I know how busy you are with schoolwork and Quidditch and...new friends.” She winked at James who looked he was going to throw up. I felt his hand clamp tighter around my shoulder.

I gaped at her. I could not believe this! I was going to meet my new stepfather at the altar. I would have been angrier but, judging my mother’s track record, I knew that Thomas Hudson-Radcliff III would be out of her life in six months at the most.

 

“Do you want something to eat? I think Twinkie or Twitchy or Blinky or something said that dinner is ready.”

Classic Mum. Always forgets which house-elf goes with which house. Always a struggle when you are filthy rich. I suppose James has that problem all the time.

“That sounds nice,” I replied through gritted teeth. Mum pranced off ahead, looking entirely stupid in her stupid, pink, stupid, fluffy, stupid high-heeled slipper things. Stupid. 

I was about to follow her when James held me back, his hands on my shoulders.

“Listen, Amelie,” he began, “I know you’re annoyed at the fact that you haven’t met Thomas Delaney Orpington Featherby or whatever he’s called.”

I laughed. It was short and sharp and mocking. I glared at the doorway my mother had just gone through.

“Hopefully tomorrow will be the only time. The newlyweds always seem to go on a wonderfully long honeymoon. Do you remember the last one? At Christmas? I was late getting back to Hogwarts. And by the time they get back we’ll be back at Hogwarts. They’ll argue when I’m gone. There’ll be one tear-stained letter and then Mum gets a huge settlement in the divorce. Everyone’s a winner!” I added sarcastically.

“They say sarcasm is the lowest form of wit.”

“And Mum always says that she’ll be married ‘till death do us part’.”

“OK, so your mum is a bit of a serial divorcee. And a bit mental. But doesn’t she seem happy to you?” James said.

I looked back down the corridor to see Mum dancing happily as she shook a cocktail. She was singing as well. Alright, it was terrible, but I had never seen her do that before.

“Yes,” I replied grumpily.

“Then be nice to her. You never know, this could be the one that works out.”

“Damn you, noble Potter boy,” I grumbled, hugging him around the waist. He kissed the top of my head.

“You love me for it.”

I lifted my head and kissed him longingly, his hands resting on my hips and his tongue entwining with mine. I heard my mother’s heels come tottering down the corridor.

“Kids! Oh sorry,” she grinned stupidly after seeing my arms wrapped around James, “Twonky says that dinner is in the kitchen. Amy, you’re obviously hungry.”

“How can you tell?”

“By the way you were eating James’ face.”

I swear all of the colour from James’ face disappeared. Now he just looked like one of the un-dead. I felt like throwing up all over her slipper shoe things. Mum nudged me in the side with her elbow, winking again.

“Don’t worry Amy, we’re only young once,” she whispered, “and if I was a bit younger, darling, I wouldn’t let him go.”

Maybe I could trade with Thomas Hudson Delaney the Fourth. My mind was suddenly filled with images of James and my mum going at it on the kitchen table. Shit. Shit. Shit. I felt bile in my throat. James looked like he wanted to cry, and clutched my hand tightly.

“Thanks for the advice, Mum.”

I bet James was regretting the ‘let’s all be nice to Flo’ plan.

 

The green dress was itchy and uncomfortable, and the thorns from the roses that were clasped in my hands were piercing my skin. My green satin heels were painful, the tiny gold buckles far too tight. My hair was stretched back so far that I could feel my skin pulling. I spotted James in the audience, and he looked supremely handsome in a simple black suit with a white shirt. His hair looked far too neat for my liking, and so I made a mental note to rectify that later.

He smiled at me, and waved back. The other bridesmaid, Griselda (I laughed when we met) grabbed my wrist and pulled back onto the bouquet. 

“You are not allowed to wave at people in the congregation,” she whispered angrily, before smiling brilliantly at a man with a camera.

“Oh, sorry,” I replied sarcastically. 

She took her job far too seriously. Griselda had managed to squeeze into the blue, skin-tight number that James liked. I looked back at him over my shoulder, making sure that he wasn’t goggling or drooling or wolf-whistling or whatever boys did when they found a woman attractive. But he wasn’t looking at Griselda. I felt a blush rise in my cheeks as he smiled at me, mouthing ‘you look beautiful’.

If I wasn’t so ‘scared’ of Griselda hexing me if I dared to break the sacred rules of Bridesmaidom, I would have run up to him and kissed him. Quite keenly.

I stood next to Griselda at the altar. She was Thomas Ponsonby Hudson-Willoughby’s niece, or something, and was obviously a tad miffed that she didn’t get to be Maid of Honour. Honestly, I don’t see what she was missing out on. You do get to wear a prettier dress than everyone else, but the rest is the same. I have gotten used to it after the many times I’ve done it.

Mum looked nice in her white gown. ‘Tommy’ turned out to be quite handsome, with blonde hair and blue eyes. He was tall. He was boring. I stifled a yawn when the vows came. Mum and Thomas kissed and it was all over. I walked down the aisle again, searching for my boyfriend through the crowd. Rice was being thrown everywhere, getting stuck in my intricate hairdo. I had just found James when the entire hall went silent.

The door had opened, and the rain outside was still pouring down. A flash of lightning and a roll of thunder added to the already dramatic scene. Mum and Thomas Delaney ‘I-Don’t-Care-What-Your-Name-Is’ stopped dead still. Mum’s bouquet dropped from her hand. James’ found mine in the awkward silence.

“Adrian?”

“Dad?”


	10. Part 2: A Wedding, Seventh Year

“...Because he had nobody to go with...No-body. Geddit? No body. Because he’s skeleton, he’s got no body. And he had nobody to go with him to the party? Oh, forget it. Anyway, I met Thomas when we were in Hogwarts around fifteen years ago, yes I know that’s hard to believe but...”

Reason number 8,957,311 why I hate weddings: the best man and his speeches.

James was tracing patterns in the tablecloth, his eyebrows crossed in concentration and his tongue sticking out. Looking past my completely adorable boyfriend, I saw Mum and Tommy Hudson Orpington-Cade the Fifth looking loved up at the head table, her new husband being the only one to laugh at the awful jokes. The rain still pattered on the windows of the decadent room, something that distracted the guests from the awkward silences that followed the best man’s gags.

It didn’t distract me, however, as my eyes kept darting between the best man, James and the man standing by the door. My mother was right, apparently, when she had said that I looked like him. He had my dark hair, and my nose. He would have been handsome in his youth, but now his hair was greying slightly, and there were wrinkles on his forehead and around his eyes. His robes were quietly expensive and they suited him. He watched quietly as the best man finished his speech, and then when the food was served. He didn’t dare come closer to Mum, or me. I wondered what he was doing here.

“Amelie, love, you’ve got to stop looking at him.”

“I can’t help it. I haven’t seen him in eleven years.”

“That’s no reason to stare at him like he’s not wearing any clothes or something.”

“That’s just because you’d like to see him naked.”

“Oh yeah, I have suddenly harboured deep feelings for my girlfriend’s estranged father. That’s the way I roll.”

James and I were halfway through our plate of delicately prepared salmon with fancy sauce. Griselda was sitting opposite us, staring daggers at me as I flirted effortlessly with my very handsome boyfriend. She began attacking her plate of salad (obviously she was watching her figure) when James leaned over and pecked me on the cheek. We were sure to keep our voices down when talking about the return of my father. I’m not sure whether the niece of the groom would appreciate the return of the love of Mum’s life. Or so I hoped. I thought they must have loved each other enough to have me. Hopefully I wasn’t a mistake.

“You could never be a mistake,” James said lovingly when I voiced my theories. Griselda smashed the glass she had been holding, flashing us a fake smile as she tidied the pieces away with her wand. I failed to restrain the snort of laughter that erupted from my mouth and she slammed her napkin down and walked away from the table.

“Someone’s a little bit tetchy,” James whispered, although he had to nudge me in the elbow to get my attention because I had returned to looking at my dad.

Dad. The word still sounded a little bit strange on my lips. I was not used to it. I had never called any of my old stepfathers ‘Dad’ because they weren’t my real fathers. He looked so casual, just standing there by the drinks stand, leaning against the wall, arms crossed.

“And then Freddie was like, ‘Oh, I’ve got to get a job because I can’t work in the shop all my life’ and so Uncle Percy went and found him this post in the Law Enforcement Squad but apparently that was far too boring and… Amelie? Are you listening to me? Hey, I think I’m going to hook up with Griselda, she’s a hot piece of meat with a really nice personality...”

“What did you say?” I had just realised that James had been rambling to himself while I stared unashamedly at my father.

“Nothing, apparently I’m just talking to myself,” he said.

“But you just said something about hooking up with Griselda!”

“That’s because it is true,” James answered sarcastically, “She’s really hot!”

“Wow Jimmy, my father and my new cousin in one night? You really like to keep it in my family; and I’m pretty sure my mum would be up for it...”

“Do you know who else was up for it with your mum? Your dad.”

“Congratulations, James, I’m so proud that you’ve got a grasp of human reproduction.”

James rolled his eyes. “Just go up to him and talk to him. I could come with you if you like.”

I saw him look over my shoulder at my father, and for a moment I admired his eyes. They were really very pretty.

“You do have one massive crush on my family, don’t you?

“Well if I was going to ask out your dad then I wouldn’t bring you along, would I? That would just be awkward.”

“Love me?” I asked.

“Always,” he answered, and kissed me lightly on the lips.

I stood up, smoothing the front of my dress. James nodded to other guests seated at our table, before joining me, his arm sliding around my waist. We wound our way through the hundreds of guests at the wedding, moving slowly towards the drinks stand and my impending familial doom.

We hovered awkwardly around the drinks stand for a while, James pointing at the decorative centre pieces full of lilies and daisies and roses and saying ‘oh, look at those!’ and ‘oh my, aren’t they beautiful?’ before helping himself to a glass of punch.

“I’m just trying to act natural,” he replied when I had asked him what he was doing. I stood in front of him and placed two hands on either sides of his face, and looked straight into his eyes.

“James, answer this truly. Will I ever have to question your sexuality?”

“What? What are you talking about?” He stuck out his chest in an attempt to rescue his masculinity.

“Your ‘acting natural’,” I began, “is commenting on wedding flowers.”

“I’ll have you know that I’m taking Herbology at N.E.W.T level.”

I raised an eyebrow suspiciously, but he could tell that I was joking. James smirked, and I couldn’t help but smile. He leant in, his hands moving to my waist and he pressed his forehead to mine. I could feel his breath on my face, hot and sweet from the punch. My breath hitched in my throat and he chuckled softly.

“Now, Amelie, are you really going to question my sexuality?”

Well, obviously I couldn’t say anything, (his lips were far too close to mine to fully appreciate what he was saying) so I merely shook my head, my eyes still fixed on his face. He chuckled again, and my insides squirmed playfully. He finally kissed me and my hands moved to his hair, threading my fingers through it.

“Sorry, excuse me; can I just get to the punch?”

I pulled myself away from James so we could shuffle a little further to left, mumbling a hurried ‘sorry’ to the man. I nearly pushed James over in my hurry to get away from him once I realised whom the man was.

“Dad?”

The man turned quickly, and stared at me for a couple of seconds. Then realisation dawned in his eyes, and I could tell that my cheeks were a bright shade of magenta.

“Amelie, my, you’ve grown up!”

And then we just stood there awkwardly. Do we hug?

“It’s been a while since you’ve seen me,” I said.

“It has,” he smiled. He put his hands on my shoulders and admired me from afar, “You’re quite the little lady, aren’t you?”

Unsure on how to respond to this, I said ‘thank you’. I reached behind me and pulled James forward, ready to introduce him to my father.

“This is James Potter, my boyfriend. James, this is my dad.”

There was a moment when the two shook hands.

“James Potter, eh? Is your mother still playing for the Harpies? Mighty fine Chaser, if you ask me.”

“She retired, but she helps out with coaching now and again.”

“Of course, of course. She was in the year above me at Hogwarts.”

“That’s nice.”

The awkward silence returned. James threaded his fingers through his hair again. Dad tapped his toes impatiently. I couldn’t stand the sound.

“Why are you here?” I spurted out.

“I was going to wish your mother congratulations.”

“Bullshit,” I said, and Dad’s eyebrows rose in surprise. “Why weren’t you here for the other weddings?”

“I was in the area.”

“Suffolk, really?” I said and Dad smiled nostalgically.

“You know that you are just like your mother, don’t you?”

“And that is supposed to be a compliment?”

Dad laughed again, and helped himself to some punch. I merely stood looking at him, with James still standing awkwardly by my side.

“Why are you back?”

“I wanted to see you and your mother,” he answered straightforwardly. “I saw the engagement in the paper and thought that I’d come along. Obviously, you’d both be here.”

Taken back by the simplicity of his response, I gaped silently at him for a few moments, before asking the question I had always wanted to know the answer to.

“Why did you leave?”

I felt James’ hand on my back and he shuffled closer to me. His warmth was comforting. He knew that this was something that I had wanted to know since I came to Hogwarts and met him. He was giving me moral support.

“Your mother didn’t tell you?”

“No,” I answered uncertainly.

“Well, then it is not my place to tell.” And with that, my father disappeared into the crowd now dispersing to the dance floor. I admired the way he talked to strangers, with ease and grace that I would never be able to achieve. Obviously, that was something I had not inherited. I saw him chat amicably with some of the richest men in the wizarding world. 

James turned to watch him as well, and we stood side by side as people bustled around us.

“He’s up to something,” I said to him.

“How can you say that?”

“Because, according to my mother, I’m like him, and I have that exact same face on when I’m doing something sneaky.” It was a weak argument. 

James stood on tiptoe to look at my father again.

“I’m not convinced.”

“Really? Christmas, fourth year? Ringing any bells?”

James nodded thoughtfully then turned to look at me. He placed his fingers under my chin and titled my face up towards his.

“Well, if he is just like you, then he must be very nice,” he said huskily. I pulled away from him (albeit reluctantly).

“Seriously, what is wrong with you today?” I asked sarcastically, smiling at him.

“What do you mean?”

“All this cheesiness, really James? I preferred it when you were declaring your undying love for my father.”

“That joke is getting a little too old now, don’t you think?” James said.

“True,” I said, admitting defeat, “maybe I focus all my energy on finding out what my father is doing here.”

“And while you’re doing that, I’m going to eat some cake.”

He pecked me quickly on the lips and went off to find some cake. I watched him leave before turning to look at my father, only to find that he had disappeared. I got sucked into the crowd that was on the dance floor, squeezing through seemingly hundreds of people. He was nowhere to be seen. I asked a rather grumpy looking Griselda where he had gone, but apparently she failed to acknowledge my presence as she danced, rather promiscuously, with a fair-haired kid. I continued my search over the dance floor, apologising profusely to some high-ranking Wizengamot guy who I knocked into. I avoided swirling robes and dresses and several waiters carrying flutes of champagne.

I saw a door open on the other side of the hall, and I darted over there, hiding behind an elaborate column. The edge of Dad’s cloak disappeared into the room before the door clicked shut. I was about to run over there to follow him, but my mother moved out of the crowd, her white gown rustling on the floor. She looked around before opening the door and following my father into the room.

I came out from behind the column and leant against it, trying to figure out why mother and her estranged ex-lover were running in secret... and at her own wedding.

“How’s my little spy, then?”

I turned around to find James standing behind, a large plate of cake in his hands and his mouth surrounded by a thick layer of icing.

“Sufficiently confused, thank you very much,” I answered.

“How so?”

“My dad just went in there,” I gestured at the door behind me, “with my mum!”

“Oh,” James looked thoroughly unsurprised as he shoved another piece of cake into his mouth. “Then why aren’t you eavesdropping?”

I was too fast for him and already had my ear shoved against the wood. I heard nothing, and was just about to turn the polished doorknob, when the door opened and Mum stood impressively in the doorway; strands of hair were falling from her complicated hairstyle. As she huffed, they lifted in front of her face. I stepped aside quickly as she strode out onto the dance floor, Dad fast on her heels. His was face red and a vein throbbing in his neck.

The dancing crowd parted, forming a perfect circle in the middle of the room as the two adults stopped. I could see Mum crying, and Dad started to pace. Neither of them seemed to care that their impending argument was going to be well and truly publicised. 

Thomas pushed his way through the crowd, staring at his new wife and her ex-lover, shock written all over his face. James erupted through the hundreds of people on the other side, turning his head to search for me. I ran over to him.

“What the hell is going on?” He asked quietly.

“I don’t know,” I replied.

The hall went silent. Elderly Mrs Hudson-Radcliff was tottering around with her walking stick; the soft beats the only sounds in the echoey hall.

“Why did you come back?” Mum asked, her breath hysterical.

Dad looked around at all the surrounding guests, and leaned in close. He spoke quietly.

“Do you want to do this here? Right now?”

Mum nodded fervently, crossing here arms in front of her chest. I stepped in closer, wanting to know why my father had returned. But he just stood there, pinching the bridge of his nose. Thomas also walked forward, so it was just the four of us in the centre of the room. He looked thoroughly put out.

“Look at us all,” I said sarcastically. “A lovely little family reunion.”

“Amy, please don’t,” Dad said pleadingly, and I feigned mock sympathy.

“Adrian? Are you going to answer me?” Mum asked.

I turned to look at my dad, waiting for him to answer. I wanted to know too. I also wanted to know why he left in the first place.

Dad mumbled something incoherently, and the three of us leaned in to listen to him. He edged away from Thomas.

“I really don’t feel comfortable talking about this in front of him,” Dad said, gesturing at Mum’s new husband. 

“Anything you’ve got to say you can say it in front of Tommy. Go ahead, Adrian. You did always like to speak your mind,” Mum said.

Dad shifted uncomfortably. The band struck up a tune and the crowd around us began moving again, but no of them dared to move towards the four of us. James was around somewhere.

“Do you still have feelings for my wife?” Tommy finally voiced what all of us were thinking.

“No!” Dad said disgustingly.

“Well thank you,” Mum answered sarcastically. She was insulted.

“Are you insulting my wife?”

“Are you insulting my mother?”

“I didn’t mean it like that.”

“Then how did you mean it? Or was that tone of revulsion in your voice merely accidental?”

“I was just shocked that you thought I would come back just to ruin your wedding,” Dad said.

“You ruined a lot more than that when you abandoned us eleven years ago,” I reasoned, and Dad turned to look at me, his eyes wide.

“What did I ruin?” He asked.

“Why did you leave?”

“Why did you come back?”

Dad suddenly reminded me of a gnome caught in wand light. You could tell his mind was overloaded with questions. The tiny clogs inside his brain were whirring and whirring and I could almost hear their miniscule sounds. He looked around nervously. The other guests had begun dancing around us. Apparently nobody cared about the possible love triangle between the bride, the groom and the bride’s ex-lover and father of her child.

James had returned, another plate of cake in his hands. I rolled my eyes at his ability to eat loads but not put on weight.

“Do you want money?” Thomas asked.

I saw Dad’s eyes light up and I hoped that it wasn’t the case. His robes were expensive, and he looked groomed and well fed. I didn’t want him to be some disgusting gold digger like my mother usually was. Or maybe that was just my family. I looked up at James. His family were very rich. Maybe I’m a gold digger too.

There was silence while we waited for Dad to answer.

“You’re not a gold digger are you?” I asked. The tension had become too much.

“What?”

“Because that’s probably where Mum got the habit from,” I reasoned. Thomas raised an eyebrow at me.

“Not that Mum is...taking...digging...your gold, Tom - of course she’s not.”

My new stepfather continued to stare at me. Pocket money looked out of the question now.

“I might need a little extra cash, yes,” Dad said. I forgot about my pocket money and turned to look at him.

“Really? That’s why you’re here?” Mum asked.

Dad blushed. Mum laughed.

“That’s it?”

“Yeah.” Dad looked confused. I shared a bewildered look with James.

“Well we can deal with that,” she said, but she continued to stare daggers at him. Thomas visibly relaxed, glad that there were no awkward love triangles or hidden affairs. Part of me was happy too. 

“Anything else, Adrian?” She said coolly.

Dad looked confused. It was probably the only facial expression he brought this evening.

“I don’t think so.”

Mum walked over and pulled me towards my father. Her grip on my arm was tight and painful.

“Mum, what are you...”

“Did you come back for your daughter?”

I felt my heart speed up. I had not seen my father in eleven years. I resented him for leaving us by ourselves, for allowing me not to have a father. I barely knew him, but suddenly I cared what he was going to say. 

“What?” Dad laughed half-heartedly.

“Did you come back to visit your daughter? Did you come so you can ask her about her exams, or Quidditch?”

“Well, I talked to her when I arrived, but...” Dad said uncomfortably, and I froze.

“So you just came for the money?” Mum said, the bitterness evident in her voice.

“No! I mean, that was my main objective, however...”

He sounded businesslike and formal. I didn’t like it.

“Tell us the truth, Adrian,” Mum said, “you just came for the money. Not to see your daughter, not to ask how she was or how she was doing. Just for the money.”

Dad looked ashamed. He should be.

“Yes.”

I knew it. Part of me always knew it.

“Why?”

James brushed past me as he stepped forward. I gripped onto his arm tightly. Dad, once again, looked as if the Knight Bus had just hit him.

“Excuse me?”

“Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why didn’t you come just to see your daughter?” James spoke slowly, as if he were talking to a five year old. Dad had now swapped his confused face for his scared face. James is talented. His dad destroyed Voldemort, you know. Mine’s just a gold digger.

“I don’t think it has anything to do with you, Potter,” Dad replied, looking at Mum for back up, but just receiving a stony glare.

“I think it does,” James said quietly. The classical waltz surrounding us now seemed a little too much.

“James, don’t,” I said. “It’s fine. Dad was just about to leave, wasn’t he?”

I looked towards my father, but he was braver now. James and him were at the same height, staring at each other.

“I think I’d like to stay,” Dad said forcefully, “I’d like to try a little bit of the cake.”

James raised the plate of cake in his hand and for one magical moment I thought he was going to smash it in his face like in Martin Miggs, the Mad Muggle. Muggles must have lots of fun.

“Here, you can have mine.”

“James, Dad,” I said quickly before the pie throwing started, “please don’t do anything stupid. This is Mum’s wedding!”

James lowered the plate of cake and shoved into the hands of a chubby toddler waddling nearby.

“Fine. Have a nice evening, Florence. I hope you two had a wonderful day,” James said angrily before storming off the dance floor. He opened a door and disappeared into the rain.

My remaining family, old and new, stood silently by me as the other guests continued to dance. Mum put her arm gently around me.

“Go. I’ll take care of your dad.”

I ran off after my boyfriend. The green satin heels I was wearing did not make the job any easier. They pinched at my toes so I took them off near the front door and ran out onto the lawn in bare feet. The grass was damp, the rain pouring all around me and into my eyes. I finally saw James. He was leaning against the ornate garden balustrade, looking out into the beautiful Suffolk countryside. 

I walked right up to him.

“Hello,” I said. He turned around, looked briefly at me for a second, and then returned to looking at the hills and the clouds.

“James?”

The hills aren’t that interesting. Not if you don’t like sheep.

“Do you want to talk?”

So the silent treatment. That is brilliantly unhelpful.

“Listen, James, I don’t know exactly what I’ve done wrong, but...”

“It’s not you.”

“Okay,” I said uncertainly. He turned to look at me.

“My parents are famous. My parents are kind and loving and clever. I’ve never fully appreciated how much they do for me, or what it would be like if they were gone.”

I looked at him, struggling to see where this was going.

“Your mum is different. She’s fun and everything, but she’s not always there for you. Your dad has never been there for you. I’ve also never appreciated how difficult it must be for you.”

James seemed different. He was speaking maturely, and with a sensitivity that was overwhelming.

“I couldn’t understand why your dad wouldn’t want to see you.”

“Well, my dad is a bit of a...” I began, but James cut me off.

“I know you better than your own father knows you.”

“And that’s a bad thing? James, I can’t see where you are going with this.”

“You’re amazing. I don’t why your dad doesn’t want to know you.”

And in that moment, I felt like I would love James Potter forever.


	11. Georgia Watson, Seventh Year

“Georgia? George? Georgia Watson! Wake up in there!”

I was eating my lunch, casually glaring at Julia Ripley with her annoyingly shiny hair and annoyingly perfect smile while she sat eating her annoyingly healthy, dressing on the side, fat free, ‘look-I-do-indeed-eat-like-a-rabbit’ salad. I doubt, in the history of magic (or Muggles for that matter), that anyone could ever be that perfect. I reckon that something dodgy is going on. I mean nobody could never not have had acne, or be president of the Charms Club, have good exam results or play Quidditch really well, without something fishy going on. She even had time to tutor snotty little first years and have a boyfriend (maybe I could do something about that last one).

I, Georgia Watson, was going to plan Julia Ripley’s fall from grace. Starting with a vicious rumour concerning a horrible sexually transmitted disease and an international Quidditch star that she met in... Venezuela. I decided I would call it Snorcackitis. That should give those Scamander twins something to talk about.

Julia Ripley laughed, and she tossed her shiny hair over her shoulder. It was perfectly tinkling and sweet and lovely and annoying. Several boys turned to look at her, and their eyes glazed over.

Oh please, nobody’s got taste anymore.

“Georgia, you’re stabbing your soup with a fork.”

I looked down. I was indeed trying to kill my food. I turned around, checking that no one remotely worth talking to had seen me acting like a moron. I breathed a sigh of relief. The Weasley clan were sitting at the other end of the table, the Ravenclaw Quidditch team were comparing their biceps and triceps at their table and Darius Zabini was busy looking in a mirror. A small first year was laughing at me from the Hufflepuff table, but I glared at him. I was pretty sure that he wet himself.

Ha. Loser.

“Georgia, what’s wrong with you today?”

I turned around to face my dorm mate.

“Nothing,” I said nonchalantly, although I was really imagining what Ripley would look like with antlers.

“Well, I could tell you what is wrong with Joseph Stonewell’s skin. I mean apparently...”

I could become very good at tuning Elizabeth’s voice out of my head, as it so very regularly annoyed me. Instead, I refocused my attention on Julia Ripley, who was now surrounded by members of the Gryffindor Quidditch team, showing them an intricately drawn game plan and blushing at the way one of the beaters was staring at her. I pushed my soup away from me, no longer hungry.

“And he said that he contracted it from his brother’s friend’s cousin’s dog who had some sort of horrible dog flu thing that made him come up in boils! Can you imagine, Georgie? Having dog flu on your face?”

“You would know.”

Elizabeth recoiled slightly, her face the perfect picture of shock.

“Something really is wrong today,” she said coolly.

“I’m sorry, Lizzie.” I really wasn’t, but the weak apology seemed to satisfy her, and soon she was gabbling away about whom was dating who and all the events that had occurred over the summer. Elizabeth had been busy catching up since last night when we had arrived. Her little army of gossipmongers had gathered around her like some sort of idol, eagerly whispering and spreading rumours. I had trained them well.

“Anything new?” I asked her.

“Serena Matthews and Charlie Lewis were caught in a broom cupboard on the fourth floor?”

“I caught them.”

“Serena’s boyfriend then proceeded to beat up Lewis?”

“I told the boyfriend where he was.”

“Rose Weasley and Scorpius Malfoy are secretly dating?”

“Oh please, that happened before the summer.”

Elizabeth pouted and crossed her arms.

“I don’t have anything else,” she said, almost ashamedly.

“Do you have anything on Julia Ripley?” I requested, and Elizabeth looked down the table at Ripley. Julia was now teaching some tiny first year about summoning charms, the small boy’s face rapt with attention.

“I thought you two were friends.”

I shrugged. “She’s alright,” I said innocently. Really I was imagining her dying in horrible ways, possibly through the use of Devil’s Snare.

“I haven’t heard anything,” she replied dejectedly. I knew how Elizabeth got when she didn’t know everything about everyone. “She’s clean.”

“Well, apparently...” And I proceeded to tell Elizabeth all about Snorcackitis, and Venezuela and the international Quidditch player, and her eyes were rapt with attention. I knew that if I told Elizabeth a rumour, it would be around the school by the end of the day, and the victim of that rumour would have a nickname by breakfast the next day.

“And they... really? It really turns your skin green? That’s grim.”

I mumbled in agreement, still glaring daggers at Julia Ripley and her pore-free skin and perfectly shiny hair. And from being her dorm-mate, I knew that she didn’t use any products on it, which meant that it must be that perfect naturally, which just made me hate her more.

I was so busy scowling at Ripley that I didn’t notice the volume of the great hall decrease, or people’s heads turn quickly towards the large oak doors. Usually I would be with them, with Elizabeth practically jumping at my side, as they looked, eager for some new piece of gossip. But I was engrossed in my hatred (and part jealously) for Julia Ripley and her perfect hair that I didn’t see when James Potter entered the great hall, his hand clasped around someone else’s.

“Well that’s new.” Elizabeth seemed unsurprised, which was an achievement, seeing as everything new seemed to excite her. I remember when she positively wet herself when some boy in second year dyed his hair.

It was her voice that eventually distracted me from imagining what Julia Ripley would look like if she were bald. I looked up, about to fire a snappish remark her way, but I stopped, realising everyone was staring at the doorway and the couple standing awkwardly there.

The entire Weasley clan stood up, clapping and wolf whistling. One girl further down the table burst into angry tears, while her friend patted her uncertainly on the shoulder. I saw one boy collecting money from his friends, smiling hugely after obviously winning some sort of bet. Elizabeth returned to her meal.

I gripped my goblet tightly, ideas for new rumours racing around my head as Amelie Harris became my newest victim. It was difficult. I didn’t know that much about her, even though she was my roommate. Then again, it would be because we were dorm mates that people would believe me when I would say that she’s actually a man and she has to shave in the mornings.

I slumped in my seat. I was losing my touch, but the day when I ask Elizabeth for help would be a bleak day for all. I stood up, muttering a hasty goodbye to Lizzie and walking towards the door of the hall. I walked past the Weasleys, all crowded around the new couple. James had his arm around her, and she was blushing stupidly, embarrassed by all the attention.

“Oi! Watson!”

I froze. I could sense the eyes of the entire Weasley tribe on my back. I inhaled and exhaled slowly and after rearranging my hair, I spun around. I plastered a sultry smile on my lips and I walked towards them with a slight sway in my hips.

“Yes, Potter?”

“There’s a Quidditch practice tonight, around six. You up for that?” A sudden vision flashed through my mind. It was a picture of me and Potter, locked in some sort of tight embrace in a dark broom closet. There was barely enough light to count the freckles on his nose. I swallowed quickly.

“I’m up for a lot more, if you want,” I answered him coyly.

That was awkward. Usually Potter would be able to answer me with some sort of equally innuendo-filled comment, and we would casually flirt until someone would make the first move. Instead there was silence. Hugo didn’t even laugh. Dominique smirked, raising a perfectly plucked eyebrow. I looked around the group.

“Wow. You’re a lively lot today,” I said sarcastically, before turning around and leaving the hall.

When I reached the entrance hall, I stopped abruptly, like my purposeful energy had suddenly vanished. I was alone in the middle of the entrance hall, and there was something sitting in my chest. Something unknown. It was similar to the feeling I got whenever we lost a Quidditch match: a dull, heavy feeling that crept across my skin and down my throat. Julia Ripley skipped past, her small group of followers kissing the ground she walked on, and I couldn’t even muster a glare. Instead, I just stared blankly at her. I didn’t even wonder what would happen to her perfect, shiny hair when she went outside into the rain.

I spotted a boy from the Ravenclaw Quidditch team descend the marble staircase and I quickly assessed him: no acne, relatively good hair, and freckles. I’ve always had a thing for freckles. I sauntered over to him, talked to him for a minute or so, and then I leaned in close to whisper something in his ear. I saw goose bumps appear on his neck, and I smirked. My work here was done. I traced my fingers down his towards his hand, and tugged slightly at it. He came willingly, and I pulled him into the closest broom cupboard. I tried to ignore the hefty weight in my chest as his hands found my skin.

 

I pulled my shirt back on in the dim light of the broom closet. The Ravenclaw boy (Daniel? Dan? Damon? I couldn’t remember whether he told me) was hurriedly straightening his tie and pulling on his shoes. He did it so quickly that he almost fell over.

“When can I see you again?”

“Err... well, Daniel, actually I think that - “

“It’s Damien.”

“Oh, right.” I knew I was close. We continued changing in silence after that, and Damon slipped out of the cupboard. I sat down on a box of cleaning products to tie up my shoelace. The dull weight in my chest hadn’t lifted, and I rubbed it gingerly, wondering whether I should go to the hospital wing to see whether something was wrong with me. Perhaps it was the soup I had for lunch. Perhaps I actually have Snorcackitis.

I left the broom closet and headed towards the Charms classroom. The loud sound of chatter and laughter spilled out into the corridor, and when I entered, the class was in a state of disarray. At a first glance, there appeared to be no professor trying to control the group of students but when I looked around, there was mousy-looking woman cowering in the corner, a sheet of parchment clasped in her fingers. I laughed at the positively terrified look on her face, and I slumped into a seat next to Elizabeth.

“Class!” The ‘professor’ whispered, “class please quieten down.”

I think someone might have looked in her direction for a second before returning to their conversation.

“So I told my contacts about Ripley and her disease,” Elizabeth said, and I laughed inwardly at how seriously she took her job as resident gossip queen.

“And?”

“And apparently her boyfriend’s got it as well, and so that means that his various sex buddies will catch it too.”

Julia Ripley already had her book open and was taking notes. I felt a sharp and sudden (and I mean sudden, lasting only a second or two) stab of guilt. Soon people will avoid Ripley in the corridor just in case they catch something, and she’ll have a horrible nickname, and she’ll have no boyfriend after it’s discovered that he’s sleeping around. But after my brief moment of concern, I went back to hating her, and the way some boy was sitting behind her and gazing longingly at the back of her head.

“Students, please,” whimpered the professor as a couple of boys started throwing a Quaffle around.

“Here he comes now,” Elizabeth whispered in my ear as a boy brushed past me to sit next to Ripley, “he was meant to meet her for lunch but he was busy.”

I looked subtly over her shoulder, towards Julia Ripley and her boyfriend who were sitting towards the back of the room. I turned away quickly. It was Dan or Damien... Damon, I think it was. I smiled to myself. It seemed that I had contracted the disease that I had invented. I’ll be going green soon.

“His name is Damien Roseby,” Elizabeth quickly filled me in, “he plays beater on the Ravenclaw Quidditch team, his parents work at the Ministry, his little sister is in Hufflepuff and he’s sleeping with approximately,” Elizabeth counted quickly on her fingers, “eight girls? I’m guessing he had a lunch date today.”

He sure did.

“Girls, can you talk later on? I’d really like to start the lesson.” The new professor tried to reason with a group of girls who were talking and giggling loudly at a table on the front row.

“Does she know that he’s a sex pest?” I asked Elizabeth, glancing swiftly at the couple that were having a whispered argument. I saw that he mouthed the words ‘I was just studying’. That feeling of guilt returned again at the hurt look on Ripley’s face. It added to the heavy weight on my chest. I tried gulping some of Elizabeth’s water to see whether it helped.

“No,” my room-mate explained, “otherwise she wouldn’t walk around looking like she owned the place. I certainly wouldn’t act like that if I knew that Felix was sleeping around.”

“Felix is a Hufflepuff. It’s not in his nature to do anything remotely rebellious or involves lying.”

Elizabeth sighed.

“When he’s not with me, he’s just studying or reading or playing Gobstones. Sometimes I wish he was a bit more... a bit more hunky, you know?”

“No,” I said dully, “I don’t know.”

“I mean there was this one time, when we were just fooling around, but he... “

I tuned her voice out of my mind. I wasn’t particularly in Elizabeth’s sex life, and I was distracted by the two people who had just rolled up to class late. They were hand in hand, and both were blushing furiously.

Apparently I wasn’t the only one who had a little bit of a ‘lunch date’. How disgusting. At least I had been on time for lessons.

Amelie Harris and James Potter walked down the aisle between the tables, sitting at a table right at the back of the classroom. A couple of the Gryffindor Quidditch team members sent Potter a knowing wink. The couple sat far too close together to be decent. His forehead was almost touching hers.

I had the sudden urge to vomit, and the dull ache in my chest grew in intensity. I stood up and walked out of the classroom, not even finding the energy to laugh at the new teacher, who was now falling victim to some well aimed fireworks. I saw raise her arm weakly as if to try and stop me, but I didn’t stop walking until I reached the door to the hospital wing and entered. The nurse enquired after my illness, and after a vague description of my chest ache, she gave me some medicine and I lay down on a bed in the corner. It wasn’t long before I fell asleep.

 

“Watson. Waaaaaatson.”

Someone’s voice was digging into my head. It was Potter’s voice, I think. Well, it could be. There was definitely a hint of Weasley in there. My eyes flickered open, and my hands felt the bandage that was wrapped tightly around my head. I groaned.

“What happened?”

“You fell.” The voice had been Potter’s. He was sitting on the chair next to my bed. The rest of the Quidditch team was crowded around my bed, all of them looking very windswept and a bit disorientated (well, apart from Dominique, who seemed to look nothing less than perfect everyday). All of them had their broomsticks clutched tightly in their hands.

“Did we win?”

“It was easy. They’re Hufflepuffs,” said Roxy, “Oscar caught the snitch right after you fell.”

Oscar was the thin and weedy seeker. He was standing right at the back of the group and, at the mention of his name he cowered slightly and pushed his glasses further up his nose. The matron came over, squeezing through the team towards my bed. She was young, pretty and obviously new to this. She was trainee; otherwise she would have scolded the team for making a mess in the hospital wing and sent them on their way.

“Hello darling,” she smiled kindly, “do you want to try sitting up for me?”

I tried. My head rung horribly and I swayed slightly from side to side. I could feel someone’s hand on my arm, steadying me. It was warm. I turned to see who it was, only see James’ bright brown eyes staring back at me.

 

When I woke up, it was dark. There was only one other person in the hospital wing and they were quite obviously asleep, their snores were echoing around the room. There was no light on in the matron’s office so I slipped out of bed and crept towards the door. I was still wearing my uniform.

The feeling in my chest had disappeared, so I skipped back towards the Gryffindor common room. I whispered the password to the Fat Lady and headed inside, and I was about to creep up the boy’s staircase to see whether Jeremy was up for anything but then I heard a giggle. I turned, only to see the silhouette of two people in front of the fire. I wished that it were Ripley and her boyfriend Daniel.

“Say it again,” one of them said.

“I love you.”

The ache in my chest returned quickly and intensely and I felt like I might keel over. It hurt so much that I took a sharp gasp of breath, and the couple on the sofa must have heard me. The girl turned in her turned and looked into the shadows by the staircase. They didn’t see me. I stumbled against the wall, rubbing my chest, trying to sooth it. All I wanted to do was get out of this room with the heat and the darkness and... and them. I staggered up the stairs, gasping against the pain. I could still hear the mumbles of the couple’s voices from the steps.

“I love you, Amelie Harris.”


End file.
